Game of Thrones Season 7
by cbstevp
Summary: A look at what Season 7 of Game of Thrones might look like, picking up where events ended at the end of Season 6.
1. Chapter 1

**Game of Thrones Season 7 – Chapter 1**

 _With Game of Thrones Season 7 almost a year away, I thought I'd take a stab at visualizing what the coming season will be like. This will be based on the TV show, not the books, and will be written in prose, not done in script fashion. There will be multiple locations and character viewpoints per chapter like the television show. How many chapters I write depends on where the story takes me._

 **Chapter 1**

 **King's Landing – Jaime**

The small council room behind the throne room in the Red Keep was as it always was, Ser Jaime Lannister observed, as he stood by the table. Both Jon Arryn and Ned Stark had used it for their meetings when they were both Hand of the King, as had Cersei and Tyrion before their father had arrived to take over things. Lord Tywin Lannister held his meetings in the Tower of the Hand, but now he was gone as well, dead like Arryn and Stark, killed by Jaime's brother Tyrion. And now many other people were dead, most of them dying while Jaime had been gone for the city.

The first time it had been Robert who had died, though he was already dying when Jaime was forced to flee after a violent confrontation with Stark and his men outside one of Littlefinger's brothels. Then came war, and all the horrors that followed, including his long captivity, the loss of his right hand, and much, much more. Worse of all was that all his children were now dead.

He had never really known them, Cersei making sure he had stayed as far away from them as possible. He never shed a tear for Joffrey, even though he had died in front of him, poisoned by…someone. His brother Tyrion and Sansa Stark had been blamed for that, but Jaime never truly believed it. The Stark girl had motive enough, but she was a mouse among the lions, and would never have dared lift a finger unless someone prodded her and aided her. Cersei and their father believed Tyrion and Sansa had acted together to kill their King. Tyrion hated Joffrey, as many did, but the way Tyrion reacted when Joffrey died, the way he stood there in disbelief with the rest, Jaime knew he hadn't done it.

But Cersei and their father wanted things, and Tyrion had been a convenient scapegoat. Cersei had wanted him dead since he had killed their mother coming into the world. And Lord Tywin wanted Jaime back, at his side, as Lord of Casterly Rock, and not as some glorified bodyguard to kings. Well, Jaime was no longer a Kingsguards man, stripped of that duty by Tommen. And soon they would announce him as Lord of Casterly Rock and most likely even Warden of the West. Yes, Father, you got what you wanted in the end, Jaime thought, but you weren't around to enjoy this final victory. Tyrion had killed Lord Tywin, and there was no doubt about his guilt in that. And there was also no doubt Jaime was partially to blame for that death, for he had released Tyrion from his cell where he had been awaiting the execution's axe for Joffrey's murder.

Myrcella he hardly knew either. Nevertheless her death in his arms on a ship leaving Dorne had been a shock. Poison again, black blood pouring from her mouth and nose, not moments after he confessed he was her father. In his grief, he wanted to turn the ship around and kill every Dornishman and woman, but the sellsword knight Ser Bronn said they had been lucky to get away with their skins in the first place, and if they went back they would surely be dead as well. His anger was not sated when he returned to King's Landing to find out Cersei had been imprisoned and stripped of her humility in a shameful walk across the city. Dorne would have to wait, while they dealt with enemies on their doorstep, in the Sept of Baelor. But then Tommen had pulled the rug out from all of them when he forged an alliance with the High Sparrow.

Tommen he knew better, but still hardly at all, and his death was the one he still could not understand. After riding around the Riverlands with Bronn and a small army for weeks, setting things to rights, Jaime had finally thought he would get some peace. But it was not to be. He and Bronn returned to the capital to find chaos. The Sept of Baelor destroyed, the Tyrell family and many others killed, including Jaime's uncle Kevan. Tommen was dead as well, having leaped to his death from the Red Keep. A suicide, he heard it whispered as he and Bronn made their way into the city. And now Cersei was calling herself Queen of Westeros.

He hadn't been alone with her since he returned. He had been summoned to her chambers that night, after she he had been crowned Queen, but he ignored the summons, not knowing what he would say to her, unsure if he could control himself. As the army settled into barracks his men brought the stories to him. People were saying that it was Cersei herself who destroyed the sept and killed all those inside. Jaime could scare believe it, and then as details emerged he began to believe it. Cersei and Tommen never went to the sept for Ser Loras Tyrell's trial. Cersei immediately declared herself queen when Tommen was still freshly dead. The man Qyburn was declared her Hand. And more disquieting news, as Pycelle was found dead in an alley the same day, stabbed a hundred times, his body laying nearby one of Littlefinger's old brothels.

Jaime had ignored the Queen's summons and slept in the barracks with the soldiers, a simple bed in a private sleeping cell, as he had slept in most of his days since joining the Kingsguard. As he ate breakfast with his men the next morning, two of Cersei's Queensguards men appeared, two men he did not know.

"Ser Jaime, the Queen commands you attend a small council meeting, in the old meeting room behind the throne room."

Jaime looked at the Queensguards men. "Tell my sister I shall be there as soon as I have broken my fast."

"Her Grace said we are to drag you there if need be," said the other one.

Bronn was sitting across from him. "Now you're in for it," he quipped with the smirk he always had on his face.

Jaime ignored the jibe, and ignored the Queensguards and continued to eat. They stood waiting, said nothing more, and when Jaime was done he stood. "You had better come with me," he said to Bronn.

Bronn started to protest and then shrugged and put down his fork. "Aye," he said and stood as well.

And now as Bronn waited outside the room, Jaime waited inside, for his Queen, his sister, his lover…and he knew not what he would say to her.

The door opened and in they came, all seven Queensguards, including the monstrous Gregor Clegane, more ghoul than man now, and with them was the mysterious man named Qyburn, and Cersei, looking somber, in mourning black. She barely looked at him as she took her seat at the head of the table, with Qyburn to her right, the badge of Hand of the Queen attached to his black robes. The Queensguards took up positions around the room, Clegane directly behind Cersei.

"Ser Jaime, please sit," Cersei said as he remained standing.

He dipped his head. "Your Grace," and took a seat at the far end of the table, resting his golden right hand on the table. The weight of it bothered him sometimes and he even thought to change the gold for steel. "The small council is small indeed," he said. "Are no others joining us?"

"No," Cersei replied, a cold look in her eyes. "Lord Hand Qyburn has appointed some minor officials to see over the other tasks. There is no need for them to attend small council meetings."

"And what about Pycelle's replacement?" Jaime asked.

Qyburn spoke up. "As yet, my lord, the archmaesters of the Citadel of Oldtown have not appointed someone, though it has been less than two weeks since his death, so I expect they are still deciding."

"Have you discovered who murdered him?" Jaime asked the Hand.

"Not yet, but inquires are being made."

"We have more important business to attend to," Cersei said impatiently. "Tell him."

"We have word of movement of our enemies," Qyburn told him. "Dorne and the Reach are both declaring against the Queen and are gathering armies to march on the capital."

Jaime knew this would happen. "When will they march?" he asked.

"Soon," Qyburn said. "Winter will be on us in a matter of weeks. Already snow is falling in the Riverlands. I fear they will try to take the capital as soon as they can before the campaigning season ends."

Jaime said nothing and they both stared at him. Cersei finally spoke. "As commander of our armies we would like your opinion of this matter…ser."

"My opinion?" Jaime said. "Sue for peace. Now, while we still have our heads."

Cersei shook her head. "Are you mad? They want us dead, all of us. That old crone Olenna Tyrell blames me for the deaths of her family."

"Well?" Jaime said as he stared at her down the length of the table. "Did you kill them?"

"Certainly not," she shot back. "Not that I am not glad some of them are dead. I despised that sparrow and his flock of fools. I had no love for Margaery and her puffed up father, but she was Tommen's wife, and I would never have done anything to hurt my son. And Uncle Kevan…poor Uncle Kevan is gone too. I would certainly never kill our own blood." She sniffed and seemed about to cry but Jaime found he felt no sympathy for her.

"An accident, my lord," Qyburn explained. "An old store of wildfire King Aerys had placed there, forgotten after all this time. Someone must have set it off…by accident."

"Yes, I have heard that as well and no one believes it," Jaime replied. "They believe that you two had them murdered. Including about two hundred more people that had packed inside, some of whom have noble blood and families that will soon be calling for our blood."

"Lies," Cersei said, getting angry now. "Meant to hurt me…in my grief. You know Mad Aerys had such wildfire stores. That's why you killed him."

"Yes, that is why," Jaime echoed. He still felt they were the liars, but let it go, for now. "There is nothing we can do about Dorne and the Reach. We can't attack them without exposing the capital. We haven't the men to counter them here and protect the west. And we have no allies, except for those fools the Freys."

Qyburn and Cersei looked at each other with unease and then Qyburn pulled a small raven scroll from his robes. "A bird, from the Twins, my lord, just a few days past. Lord Walder Frey and two of his sons were murdered soon after you left there."

"Murdered?" Jaime said in surprise. "How?"

Qyburn gave details. "The letter doesn't say but I have learned more since. Apparently the sons were cut up and parts of their bodies were put in a pie that was served to Lord Walder. And then his throat was cut."

"Gods," Cersei said. "How horrid."

"And the killer?" Jaime asked.

"Got away clean apparently," Qyburn said. "All the remaining sons are blaming each other and there is chaos at the Twins. We can expect no help from there for the present."

"What of the Stormlands?" Cersei asked.

"The Storm lords and those of Blackwater Bay of any worth supported Stannis and died with him in the North," Qyburn said.

Jaime knew they couldn't count on the Stormlands. "I am sure the rest will see which way the wind is blowing and side with the Reach and Dorne. What of the Vale? Baelish is still loyal to our house is he not?"

"The Vale is already allied itself with the Starks and the North," Qyburn said.

"What this?" Jaime asked. He knew Sansa was alive and well and in the North, all told to him by Brienne of Tarth back in the Riverlands. News he had not told Cersei. But he knew nothing of an alliance with the Vale.

Cersei was seething now. "That little whore Sansa Stark has Baelish wrapped around her finger!"

Again Qyburn explained. "She and her bastard brother Jon Snow took back Winterfell from the Boltons and have united the North once again. There was a great battle, thousands of dead and wounded. Apparently Roose Bolton was already dead, said to have been poisoned, and his son Ramsey died in the battle…or soon after. Reports differ. The knights of the Vale arrived in a timely manner and saved the day as the Boltons were about to win. They are calling it the Battle of the Bastards."

"Baelish will hang with Sansa someday!" Cersei shouted. "And the bastard Snow is calling himself King in the North! The last one who did that died. So will he."

Jaime shook his head. "We don't need more enemies. Let him have the North, as long as he stays there."

"I quite agree, Your Grace," Qyburn said. "With winter in the North, the Stark forces cannot move south again until spring."

"He has half of my realm," she said, her anger dying somewhat.

"A cold, empty half," Jaime told her. "Allies we need, not more enemies now."

"We have no friends," Cersei said, despondent now. "Where will we get allies?"

"The ironborn," Jaime suggested, reaching for ideas. "They hate the Starks and often warred with the Reach. We can offer Balon Greyjoy…"

But Qyburn shook his head. "Balon Greyjoy is dead as well."

Another surprise. "Then he is the last one."

"The last what?" Cersei asked and then she knew. "Oh…the last king. Not yet. There is still the bastard Snow."

"How did Greyjoy die?" Jaime asked Qyburn.

"Fell from a bridge but now I believe he was pushed by his brother Euron. A great council of the ironborn declared Euron king. So that makes two kings still. Balon's son Theon and daughter Yara challenged their uncle but none would have them as leaders. They have fled the Iron Islands and no one knows where they are. Euron is building ships, but to what purpose I know not."

"Another enemy," Cersei said, despondent again.

"Swords we need," Jaime said and then an idea came to him. "Sellswords. We have all the gold of Casterly Rock to buy sellswords. Maybe even the ironborn."

"A sound idea," Qyburn said.

But Cersei looked worried. "Can we trust them?"

"We have no choice, Your Grace," Qyburn told her. "As we have agreed we have no allies in Westeros. Swords we need. With your permission I shall send out messages. I believe the Golden Company is near Myr now. They have ten thousand swords, all battle hardened warriors. And maybe if we offer this new Greyjoy leader something he wants, say…the independence of the Iron Islands perhaps?"

"Independence?" Cersei said, seeming to get angry again. "Haven't they already declared themselves independent?"

"We can make it a royal decree," Qyburn suggested.

"Never," Cersei said. "Already the North is gone, the South and Vale in rebellion and you want to cut off more of my realm?"

"It is just a few rocks in the sea," Jaime told her. "Do recall, sister, that those rocks are quite close to our home. If the ironborn choose to be against us…"

"Yes," Cersei said, realizing what he meant. She looked to Qyburn. "Offer the sellswords whatever they want. Gold, land, titles, …but not too much. As for the krakens, make the offer, but tell them if they are too late they will get nothing."

"Of course, Your Grace. By your leave. I have many letters to write."

She nodded and he soon left the room. Cersei looked to her guards. "Leave us."

All seven marched out of the room and now Jaime and the Queen were alone. She stared at him. "I asked you to come to my rooms last night."

"I know…Your Grace."

"And still you didn't come?" She sounded hurt.

"How would it look if I spent the night in your rooms?"

"Now you worry on that? You never did, even when Robert was alive."

"I was hoping he would catch us so I could kill him. Now…things have changed Cersei. We must be cautious."

"I don't care anymore," she said. "Father is dead, our children are dead. I am the Queen. Who I take as lover is my business, no one else's. Once you said we should marry. Maybe now is the time."

Her opinion on that may have changed but so had his. "They will kill us in our wedding bed if we do that."

"The Targaryens wed brother and sister."

"We are not Targaryens, as you have said to me so often over the years. Times have changed Cersei. The people mistrust you already. If we marry, if they know I am in your bed…if they even suspect…we are finished."

"Jaime…please…I need you…now, more than ever. Tommen…our last child," she let out a sob but he did not move and she sobbed some more and finally he stood and walked to her side and sat in a chair he drew close to her. She wrapped her arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder.

"Why did he jump?" Jaime finally asked.

"I know not…maybe because he loved her, his Queen…I…I know not."

"Where is he?"

"I had him cremated and the ashes scattered over the sept's remains. He belongs with his brother and sister and grandfather."

And then he had to ask her the most important question. "Cersei…by what right do you call yourself Queen?"

She pulled back from him. "I had to. There is no one else. And if I didn't, what would stop them from ripping me to pieces, as you have so clearly just said. I did what I had to do to survive. Jaime…the sparrows were going to try me, for murdering Robert, for our love, for…for all we are."

Now he knew the truth. "You did destroy the sept."

She stared at him and then nodded, once, and he pulled back and stood up, a cold look in his eyes. "By your leave, Your Grace, I will return to the army and begin making plans for the defense of the capital. "

"Jaime…I…won't you come tonight?"

A long pause and then. "No. We are done with all that." He turned on his heel and walked away, the sound of his steps echoing through the room, and not once did he look back. Nor did she say a word or chase after him.

Outside Bronn was waiting. Jaime felt exhausted, wondering if what he just did had been the right thing to do. They would still kill him, the Tyrells, the Dornish, the rest, no matter how much he distanced himself from Cersei. He would have to fight, for his life if nothing else, for there was nothing else now. His father was dead, his children as well, his brother murdered their father, his sister…he knew not what she was. Was monster too harsh a word for her or not harsh enough? Many thought he was a monster, for sleeping with his sister, and for some what they believed he had done to Bran Stark. But he did not murder a sept full of people.

As they walked, to keep his mind from dwelling on those things Jaime told Bronn all he had learned about their enemies.

"Too bloody many, and no friends," Bronn said when Jaime finished.

"Exactly. So what should we do?"

"Surrender."

"I suggested the same, but no one liked the idea. Try again."

"If we get the Golden Company, we might have a chance," Bronn said. "The ironmen as well, and we'll have a good bloody chance. Tough lot they are. And we might have a look around for more of that wildfire. Sure could use it."

"Dangerous stuff."

"Aye…for the enemy as well. It worked once."

Jaime knew he was right. That had been Tyrion's plan, to destroy Stannis' fleet. Jaime wished he had been here to see it. "If only Tyrion was here, he'd know what to do."

"Thought you said you wanted to kill him?"

"I do," Jaime replied. "Well, it matters not. I am sure we will never see him again."

"Could be."

"Where do you think he is?"

"In the Free Cities somewhere. If Varys went with him, for sure, cause Tyrion told me once Varys had friends over there. If he's lucky, your brother is drunk and with a whore or two in his bed."

"Then he'd better stay there."

"He won't."

Jaime stopped and looked at him. "Why not?"

"Cause he'll get bored. And he left too much unfinished here. He'll be back some day. Let's just hope he doesn't have an army at his back."

"Where would Tyrion get an army?"

"I hear there is one around Meereen somewhere."

"Gods," Jaime said. "You don't think…but she's a Targaryen. I am certain she hates Lannisters."

Bronn nodded. "Aye. But if she doesn't feed him to her dragons, she might just find a use for the little bugger."

* * *

 **The Queen's Flagship – Tyrion**

In the great cabin on the Queen's flagship they stood around the table looking at the map of Westeros. A strange group they were, Tyrion Lannister thought to himself as he drank his fourth cup of wine since breakfast. A Targaryen Queen, a eunuch warrior, two ironborn siblings, a eunuch spymaster, two Dothraki horse lords, and a dwarf were planning the greatest invasion of Westeros since Nymeria and her fabled ten thousand ships had landed in Dorne ages ago. Ten thousand ships they did not have, but the hundreds they had and the soldiers on them would do, if they used them wisely.

Tyrion poured himself some more wine from a decanter on a side table. No one else drank and the Queen gave him a look. Daenerys disapproved of his drinking, but said nothing as she knew he thought better with drink in hand. And clear and imaginative thinking they needed now.

"King's Landing," said Yara Greyjoy, pointing a finger at the map. "We strike for the capital and win the war and put the Queen on the Iron Throne in one bold move."

"Aye," said her brother Theon. "We land our army at the Mud Gate as we lay stone and fire on the city from the ships in the bay."

"Stannis Baratheon tried that," said Tyrion. "And he failed."

"Quite so," added Varys. "I suggest we stay outside the city, and let the Queen's dragons awe the citizens. Perhaps they will surrender without a fight. "

"And if they are not awed?" Daenerys asked. "I cannot burn the city and its people."

"Not a good way to begin your rule," Tyrion said.

"Not a good way at all," she agreed.

Grey Worm spoke next. "What allies do we have? What armies?"

"The Reach and Dorne," Varys said, pointing to their lands on the map. "Swords and spears and supplies they are gathering now. They will take time, but so will we. A month at most before we are near King's Landing. And there are the Step Stones and its fabled pirates between here and there."

Yara laughed. "Ironborn fear no pirates."

"And what of your uncle?" Tyrion asked her.

"If he comes, we will fight," said Theon. He had a nervous cast to his eye as he spoke. This was not the same cocky young man who had insulted Tyrion at Winterfell. Much and more had happened to him since then it seemed.

"Yes," said Daenerys. "If he is killed will his men join us?"

"They will," Yara said. "Ironborn follow a strong ruler. They will follow me…and you, Your Grace."

Daenerys smiled. "Good."

One of the Dothraki horse lords spoke up, and he and Daenerys exchanged words in Dothraki for a while, with Tyrion and the rest not understanding.

"They are worried about the long voyage's affect on their horses," the Queen finally explained. "He wants to land somewhere first and let the horses gain their strength back before we attack."

"A reasonable request, as they are our only cavalry force," Varys said. "But it must be somewhere in the south with no snows."

"What is this large island?" Daenerys asked as she pointed to the map.

"Tarth," Varys told her. "The Sapphire Island it is called, though for its blue waters, not its gems. Somewhat mountainous, but with many waterfalls and lush vegetation. A few good harbors I believe are on the west coast. Loyal to the Baratheons."

"Stannis' bannermen," Tyrion said. "They may be no friend to you, Your Grace."

"Stannis is dead," Theon told them. "His army destroyed by the Boltons."

"Yes, dead, but where his surviving bannermen's loyalty now lies is uncertain," Tyrion said. He looked at Varys. "Who is lord of Tarth?"

"Selwyn Tarth," Varys replied. "You saw his daughter Brienne at Joffrey's wedding. Very tall lady. She saved your brother from the Northmen."

"Ah, I do recall," said Tyrion. "A great beast of a woman, more brawn than beauty."

"She's the one who saved Sansa Stark and me," Theon told them.

"How so?" asked the Queen.

"When we escaped from Winterfell, the Boltons sent men and dogs after us. Brienne and her squire attacked them and saved us. She claims she killed Stannis when she found him after the battle. Said she did it for Renly."

"Such a formidable warrior we should have on our side," Daenerys said. "Her father and his men as well. Where is Brienne of Tarth now?" she asked Theon.

"Last I saw of her and Sansa they were heading to Castle Black where Jon Snow is in command, Your Grace."

"Jon Snow is Sansa's half brother," Varys added. "The bastard son of Eddard Stark and an unknown woman. And why did you not go North, Lord Greyjoy?"

"I wanted to go home," Theon said. "Besides, Jon Snow would have taken my head for what I did at Winterfell."

"I am sure he would have," said Tyrion. "I met him once. We rode to the Wall together when he joined the Night's Watch. A bit of a dour fellow, but he must be made of stern stuff to be Lord Commander of the Night's Watch at his age. If she went there, the Boltons will chase after Sansa and then things could get ugly up in the North."

"There is nothing we can do about affairs in the North," Daenerys said. "Tarth would be a good place to land, though. Will Lord Tarth and the Stormlands oppose us, is the question."

"Not if they see your dragons," Varys said. "I suggest we land on Tarth first. We can replenish our water, rest our people, and feed the horses."

"Agreed," said Tyrion. "From Tarth we can learn what has been happening in Westeros. We need news before we attack. News of all of Westeros, from the Arbor to the Wall."

* * *

 **The Wall – Eddison**

They gave him the job, but there had been no election. When Jon Snow arose from the dead and said his watch was ended, Edd was the only senior man left, the only one who had not perished in the battles or been hanged for mutiny and murder. Some men grumbled that Jon was a deserter, but others said he died and so his watch ended when he died. There were no rules about men coming back to life. An election Edd declared but no one stood for commander against him and so by default the job was his.

"Just my luck," Edd said aloud as he stood by the inner gate. "Name me commander at a time like this."

"What's that Lord Commander?" asked one of his men beside him.

"I was just…never mind, here they come."

Down the tunnel from the gate came a party of rangers, with two wildlings with them. They had been spotted from the Wall and Edd ordered the party out to investigate, thinking they might be stragglers from Hardhome. Both were dressed in furs like the wildings. One was a short woman, more of a girl, with curly black hair, who carried a bow and arrows. The other was a boy, tall, but he was being held up by two of the rangers as his legs dragged behind him.

"Is he wounded?" Edd asked.

"No…he can't walk," said the girl.

"I'm crippled," the boy said. "Is Jon Snow here?"

"No," Edd told them. "I'm Eddison Tollett, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Who are you?"

"I'm Jon Snow's brother, Brandon Stark. And this is Meera Reed. We've got to talk to Jon. Isn't he Lord Commander?"

Brandon Stark, the one Sam had helped through the Wall. "Not anymore. Jon's gone south with your sister to take back Winterfell from the Boltons," Edd told them.

"My sister?" Bran said in surprise

"Come inside. It's too bloody cold out here to talk on all this."

Inside they went, to the dining hall, and over hot bowls of soup and mugs of ale all was explained. The Stark boy and the girl listened in awe, as Edd told them how Jon had died and was born again, how Sansa showed up, and then how they went south to reclaim Winterfell.

"Lady Stark is married to Ramsey Bolton?" the girl named Meera asked.

"Aye," Edd told them. "And Tyrion Lannister once too, she said. Sounds like she was forced to do it, both times."

"She escaped from both of them," Bran said with a grin. "Is there any news of my sister Arya or brother Rickon?"

"Sorry to tell you the Boltons captured Rickon and have him in chains at Winterfell now."

"Rickon? A prisoner?" Bran said in fear.

"Aye," Edd replied. "As for Arya, that tall women, Brienne, says she saw Arya Stark in the Vale but she refused to come with her. Some man was going to ransom her to your family. It sounded like Arya didn't trust Brienne."

"Who is she?"

"A women of Tarth. Said she was first in your mother's service and now in Lady Sansa's. Her and her squire saved her and Theon Greyjoy from Bolton's men when she escaped."

"Theon is still alive?" Bran asked in shock.

"Was when he left them to go back to his islands."

"He attacked Winterfell, that's why we had to flee," Bran said in anger.

"He's been punished for it, your sister said. Ramsey Bolton peeled a bit of skin off of him when he held him prisoner."

"He should have killed him," Bran said.

"Maybe so," Edd replied.

"I have to write a letter to Winterfell," Bran said next. "Tell Jon…"

"Slow down," Edd interrupted. "We don't know who won the fight yet. We'll get you rooms to sleep in." He eyed Meera. "Best I put a guard on your door. Men of the Watch…"

"You don't need to explain," Meera said, her face angry. "I know what men of the Watch are like. We ran into a few at Crastor's Keep."

"What's this?"

And so more stories came out, and finally Bran explained what he was planning to do. "I must stay here. The White Walkers are coming. I am meant to do something, to stop them here."

"Do what?" Edd asked.

"I don't know."

Just then the door opened and a man came in with a raven scroll. "From Winterfell, my lord," the man said. Edd took it and looked at the seal. It was a direwolf in grey wax.

"Let's hope this is good news," he said in his dour way as he opened the letter.

* * *

 **Winterfell – Jon**

"King in the North, they called you," Sansa said. "You cannot refuse."

"I know, but I am not heir to Winterfell," Jon replied. "You are."

They were in their father's solar, the day just dawning. These were Sansa's rooms now, the lord's suites, but she insisted Jon should take them now he was King in the North. He refused, saying she was the lady of Winterfell, no matter what, and she had relented. Jon took the royal guest rooms, for when lords of high standing came to Winterfell. But no matter where he laid his head, sleep did not come easy. The horrors he had seen in recent months plagued his sleep, nightmares of Hardhome and now of the recent battle where he had almost suffocated to death under a mass of struggling soldiers. And then there was Rickon…sometimes in his nightmares Jon reached Rickon and pulled him up on his horse's back…but always the arrow came, no matter how fast and how far he rode away from the Bolton army.

He was also worrying on a thousand other things, and this new title most of all. The Northern lords and even the knights of the Vale had proclaimed him King of the North, but he didn't feel he deserved the title. Sansa was the rightful heir now Rickon was dead, and Bran…no one knew where Bran was and he might be dead as well.

"I may be heir, Jon, but I cannot lead the North," Sansa said. "Besides, no one will trust me. Lady Mormont was right. I have been twice married, to our enemies, with one husband dead, and the other lost in the wind."

"A forced marriage, both times. Ramsey is dead. You are a widow. And Tyrion Lannister was attainted a traitor and king killer."

"So was I."

Jon had to ask her. "I know you had reason enough to do it but…did you kill Joffrey? Did he?"

"No…it was…I can't say…I…"

She was afraid, trembling, and Jon took her in his arms. "Tell me the truth. What do you know?"

Sansa gulped. "Baelish," she said. "He did it. He planned it all, with the Tyrells."

"Gods," Jon said, letting go of her arms. "Baelish. Are you sure?"

"He helped me escape from King's Landing. He had Ser Dontos give me the necklace with the poison in it and he rowed me out to Baelish's ships and then they killed Ser Dontos, in front of my eyes."

"Who put the poison in Joffrey's wine?"

"I think it was Olenna Tyrell, but I am not certain. It was all so confusing, and then I was running for my life."

"Baelish," Jon said through gritted teeth. "And then he sold you to the Boltons. He must go."

"Jon, he saved us. How can we send him away? All his knights will follow. Lord Royce doesn't like him, but will follow his commands. And our cousin Lord Robin is a weak child who loves Baelish and will do as he says."

Jon knew she was right, Sansa having already explained all about the Vale and its weak ruler, their cousin. And they needed the knights, needed every man who could hold a sword. But he did not trust Baelish.

"You said he told you he loved you, that he wants the Iron Throne."

"He loved my mother," Sansa replied. "Maybe he thinks I am her again. But I will never be his wife, Jon, I promise you this."

"Good. What do you think he will do now?"

"You know what he will do. He will try to get them to go south, to face Cersei, and join the Tyrell's and Dorne. Then somehow he will worm his way into power once Cersei is dead."

"He has no claim to the Iron Throne."

"Neither did Robert Baratheon before he killed Rhaegar Targaryen."

Jon knew she was right. Not only did they have to worry about what lay beyond the Wall, but only yesterday they had received a raven from the Eyrie, for Lord Baelish, with dire news. To the shock of all, they learned that in King's Landing the Sept of Baelor had been destroyed, the Lord of the Reach and his son and daughter killed, and King Tommen had killed himself soon after. Cersei Lannister then proclaimed herself Queen of Westeros.

"She will want all her kingdom, not just the south," Baelish had warned him after he showed Jon and the other lords the letter. Soon the whole castle knew this news and now they would discuss what it meant for the North.

"They are waiting in the great hall," Sansa said, bringing Jon out of his thoughts.

"Aye. It is time to go."

Outside the rooms they found Ser Davos waiting for them. "Your Grace," he began and Jon winced a bit. "Please don't call me that."

"And why not?" Davos asked. "They proclaimed you king…well, not everyone. Not the wildlings."

"They have no king but one of their own," Jon said as they started down the stairs. "They will follow me but don't expect them to bend the knee."

"I know they won't. Mance Rayder died before he would bend, even though he faced fi…fire."

Davos faltered and Jon knew what he was thinking. "I couldn't kill her. She saved my life."

"I know…but if I ever see her again, I will not stop until she is dead."

"Aye," was all Jon said. When they reached the bottom of the stairs he then spoke on another thing on his mind. "Ser Davos, you will sit at the head table with Sansa and me. I need an advisor. I need a Hand."

"I would be honored, Your Grace, but I think you had better ask one of your bannermen or they may feel insulted."

"Which one?" Sansa said. "None came when we needed them, none except the Mormonts."

"Perhaps from the Vale," Davos countered. "Lord Royce or…"

"Not Baelish," Jon said.

"No, we can agree on that," Davos said. "I know of him from my time with King Stannis. From all I heard, Baelish serves only one person and that is Baelish."

They had reached the great hall and Jon stopped by the doors. "There are other reasons I want you to be Hand. You have experience, and you have no personal stake in the wars to come. You will not think with your heart or worry about your home. I need to keep this army intact, not have every lord rush home to protect his lands and people if the Walkers get through the Wall."

"Aye, that is a worry. Well, Your Grace, give me a night to think on it and you will have my answer in the morning."

"Good," Jon said and the guards ahead of them opened the doors to the great hall.

The great hall was full to the brim with lords and knights and free folk, all talking and eating and drinking. Davos stood nearby the wildlings and as Jon and Sansa walked to the head table everyone stood, even the wildlings, and a silence followed them.

Jon turned as they got to their seats. "Be seated my lords and ladies." And everyone did as commanded. Sansa sat but Jon remained standing. "It is time to decide what our next move is."

Lord Royce immediately stood. "Cersei Lannister must be cast off the Iron Throne, first and foremost, my lords and ladies. She has no right to it. She is not the daughter of a king, only the wife of one. And if the rumors are true, she gave Robert horns and whelped three bastards by fornicating with her brother. Worse still, she may have murdered the High Septon, the Tyrells, and her own uncle. And she may have had a hand in Robert's death as well. Her own son leaped to his death when he knew his wife was dead. All because of her. Such a soulless, godless woman should not rule."

Many shouted and agreed with what he had said, but others stayed silent. Jon wondered if Lord Royce spoke for himself or for Baelish, who sat nearby, silent, his eyes not telling Jon anything.

Lord Glover stood and spoke next. "Horrid as she is, Cersei Lannister is not our queen. Jon Snow is our King. I say let the southerners fight over that ugly chair. Let the Reach and Dorne deal with the Lannisters. It is no concern of ours. The more they are divided the better for us."

The rotund Lord Manderly stood next. "Both Lord Royce and Lord Glover have said wise words. She should not sit the Iron Throne, but it is not our concern anymore. Our concern lies to the north, at the Wall and beyond. Yet I fear we will need these southerners we despise before the long winter ends. We will need their food and fodder, swords and spears. How many men do we have? Only about ten thousands after all our wars and troubles. All good strong men of the North and the Vale. But if what Jon Snow says is waiting for us, if the numbers he saw at Hardhome are real, how can we stand against so many?"

"The numbers are real," Tormund said as he stood. "I stood by Jon Snow's side as we fought the demons. I saw him kill a White Walker with his Valyrian steel sword. And then we ran for our ships, cause running was all we could do against such numbers. Nothing can stop them."

"The Wall will stop them," someone shouted.

"Aye, it was built to stop them," said another voice.

"And what if it doesn't?" Jon asked. "As yet they have not attacked the Wall. We known hardly a thing about them, what they are capable of. If we wait here, and they get through the Wall, nothing will stop them from running riot over all the North and South."

Little Lady Lyanna Mormont now stood, small in stature and age, but fierce in voice and temperament. "Then we must go to the Wall, all of us, now, my King," she said and that caused an outbreak of talk and argument.

It was what Jon knew they had to do. King's Landing and Cersei Lannister were the south's problem, not his. If they survived the winter, then he would deal with her and her accusations against Sansa. But that would have to wait. As he let the lords talk his eye kept going back to one man, Petyr Baelish, who sat with the Vale lords at their table, saying nothing, only listening, and waiting it seemed. Jon knew what he wanted. He had killed one king. Would he kill a queen? Or even him if he got in Baelish's way? Finally Jon wanted to know what he thought, wanted to hear the man, not one of his puppets.

"Lord Baelish," he shouted and all talk came to a stop. "As a man who spent years at the royal court I think we could value your opinion on these matters."

Baelish stood. "My opinion, Your Grace, would have little value here. I am not of the North and of the White Walkers I know nothing. But perhaps we should consider what having Cersei Lannister on the Iron Throne means. A divided kingdom, with war on many fronts. How can the south help us, if they are at each others' throats?"

"Let them kill each other," Lord Glover growled.

"While the White Walkers kill us?" Baelish asked with a cocked eyebrow. "Ten thousands, Lord Manderly says we have. I think that is a generous count. Less than five thousand I brought from the Vale and some are now dead or wounded, as are many of yours, my lords, from previous battles. Perhaps I could raise the same again, but some would need to remain behind to defend the Vale. And it will take time for them to get here. More men we need, allies we need, and from the south is the only place we can get them."

"Are you suggesting we ally ourselves with the Reach and Dorne?" Lord Manderly asked.

"Jon," Sansa said in a fierce whisper at his side. "Stop Baelish now before he wins them over."

Jon was already ahead of her. "No, we will not do that," he said and many agreed. "We have an enemy here at the Wall. Lord Baelish, if you have friends in the south who could come to our aid, I would ask you to write letters. But you will make no promises of Northern help in their wars."

"They won't believe you," Baelish said. "They won't believe the White Walkers are real."

"Aye, maybe so," Jon replied. "Maybe they will only believe when they are at their own castle gates. My lords and ladies, we have much to think on. I for one am for going to the Wall, as soon as possible, to Castle Black, to help defend the realms of men where we are strongest. Talk to your people, to each other, and come the evening we must decide."

Jon sat and began to eat as around the hall many conversations broke out. "How was I?" he asked Sansa in a low voice.

"Good. But never trust Baelish. Make sure you tell the maester to read any letters he sends."

"Aye."

Tormund came to their table, leaning over Jon as he remained standing. "You know what we must do, Lord Snow. You know we must go back to Castle Black."

"I know. But if they reach the same idea without me ordering them to do so, they will feel better for it."

"Aye," said Tormund and then he looked at Sansa. "What word of your guardian, Brienne?"

"None since she wrote that the Blackfish could not help us and was most likely dead by now."

"We could use her," Tormund said.

Sansa and Jon gave each other a knowing look, half smiling. Jon knew Tormund had a thing for Brienne, but was also sure she did not return the affection. "I am sure she is on her way back to us now," Sansa told the wildling warrior.

* * *

 **The Riverlands – Brienne**

Brienne was trying to get back North, but the roads were not safe. First, Jaime and his army had been everywhere, up and down the roads to the Twins and back south again. She knew Jaime would not harm her, but his men might not be so generous if he was not around. Second, a host of Freys was beating the countryside, looking for the one who had murdered their sire at his very own table. When Brienne heard this news she knew Lady Catelyn and her son and many more had been avenged at last and she said a prayer for those foully murdered by their Frey hosts at a wedding.

"My lady…"

"Shhh!" she said in a horse whisper to Podrick Payne. They were hiding, in some woods off the road, and he was supposed to hold tight the horse reins. The horses and saddles they had stolen from a farm in the dead of night a few days earlier. Their own horses they had to leave behind in Riverrun after their escape by boat from the castle. Brienne had left two gold dragons in the barn for the horses, and Pod had agreed it was more than enough.

Down the road twenty men were riding, all with the twin towers of the Freys on their surcoats and banners. As the last rider passed them suddenly Pod lost control of the horses and one bolted out on the road.

Brienne ran out to grab the horse and at once every Frey turned around and many pulled out their swords and notched their crossbows. "You there, halt!" shouted a large man in a commanding voice. He was better armored that the rest and looked like he might be a knight.

"Beg pardon, my lords," Brienne said as Pod came out on the road with the other horse. "We were just on our way to King's Landing to pay homage to the new Queen."

"Fuck, it's a woman," said one of the Freys and many laughed.

"Why were you hiding?" the knight asked.

"Roads are dangerous, my lord," Brienne said. "We heard how Lord Walder was murdered and the murderers were still not caught."

"Wait, I know her," said another Frey. "Brienne of Tarth. Was at Riverrun, had words with Ser Jaime. They let her and the other one into the castle to have words with the Blackfish and they never came out."

The knight looked at her in suspicion. "Are you in service with the Tullys?"

"No, my lord. The Lannisters."

But he didn't buy it. "I think you two had best come with us. You will be a guest at the Twins till we can get word from Ser Jaime as to who you really serve."

"Give me a few minutes and her feet in a fire and we'll know," said another one with a scowl on his face. "Might be these two killed Lord Walder and that's why they're hiding."

"Pod, get on your horse…NOW!" she shouted and the two of them leaped on their horses and took off in the opposite direction.

Shouts and curses rang out behind them and several crossbows twanged. A bolt flew by her head and one dinged off her back armor but did not penetrate it. "FASTER!" she shouted to Pod. Ahead there was a fork in the road and they took the opposite of the way they had just come. They soon saw a small bridge over a stream and they raced across it with a bevy of Freys behind them.

On the far side suddenly from all around them came the twang of bows and crossbows, but no arrow or bolt was aimed at them. Shouts and yells and screams behind them told the tale. The Freys were being ambushed.

Brienne reined in her horse and turned it around. At least ten Freys were down with arrows and bolts sticking out of them. And all along the road men on both sides were leaping out and were slashing into them. They were a motley collection of men, with patched and faded clothes and with little amour. Weapons they had, and now they turned bright red with Frey blood. As Brienne was about to charge down and help the men, one of them, the biggest, turned around and saw her.

"YOU!" shouted Sandor Clegane, the scarred face of her old enemy contorted in rage.

"Gods, it's the Hound," Pod said in fright.

He marched straight for them, a bloody sword in one hand and an axe on his belt. He worn no armor and seemed to be favoring his right leg and Brienne knew why. She pulled out her sword Oathkeeper as she leaped off her horse, ready to fight him again. Pod jumped down beside her with his sword in hand.

"This time woman I will bloody well gut you!" the Hound shouted.

"Stay back, Pod. He's mine."

"Clegane!" yelled a commanding voice behind him. To her surprise the Hound stopped. A man with a scarred neck and a patch over his right eye approached. "We don't kill the people, we save them," he said.

"I owe this one some steel," the Hound snarled. "Stay out of it."

"You killing women now?" said another man, wearing faded red robes over armor. He had a wine skin in hand and drank from it. Behind them the last of the Freys was dying.

"Not the first time," the Hound said. "This is the one, Brienne of bloody Tarth. Left me for dead."

"Ah, the famous tough girl," said the drinker. "I am Thoros of Myr."

"Beric Dondarrion," said the scarred man. "Lady Brienne, I know your father, and once dined with him in my father's home. Many years ago."

"I know you as well, Lord Beric," she replied. "I know you lead a group called the Brotherhood Without Banners. I also know Lord Stark sent you to the Riverlands to stop Gregor Clegane."

"He did. Now Ser Gregor is dead, killed by a Dornishman's poison. Or mostly dead from what we heard. And so Lord Eddard is dead as well. And his wife and son. Which is why we kill Frey's whenever we can. A shame someone else got to Lord Walder first."

"Enough jabbering," Clegane growled. "Are you going to let me kill her or not?"

"No," said Dondarrion. "Not today. The lady and her companion are free to go where they wish."

Brienne and Pod lowered their swords as the Hound put away his. "Someday, woman, you and I will finish what we started."

"Not today," Dondarrion said again. Behind him all the Freys were dead and Dondarrion's men were gathering up weapons and coin and boots and armor. Clegane found a shirt of chain mail that barely fit and pulled it over his head. Now he would be harder to kill, Brienne realized. He also took some armored gauntlets and a dagger on a belt. The horses as well they took. Dondarrion's group had only one hurt man, who had a slight wound to his arm. The rest began to drag the bodies off the road.

"Where would you be going?" Thoros asked Brienne.

"North, to Winterfell," Brienne replied. "I serve Lady Stark now."

Dondarrion stared at her. "Which Lady Stark?"

"Sansa Stark. She escaped from the Boltons and sent me to the Riverlands to enlist the aide of her uncle in her war with them."

"The war is over," said Thoros. "We heard there was a great battle, and Jon Snow defeated the Boltons."

"Thank the gods," said Brienne.

"Thank the Vale," Dondarrion told her. "Lord Baelish and the knights of the Vale did the saving."

"Baelish? Are you sure?"

"He's sure, woman," the Hound snapped at her as he took one of the horses, the biggest, and checked the saddle.

"What are you doing with these men?" Brienne asked the Hound. "I thought anyone named Clegane would be an enemy of the Brotherhood Without Banners."

"He was our enemy," Thoros told her. "But the Lord of Light allowed him to live, twice it now seems. And so now he is our companion. We are heading north as well, my lady. To Winterfell, and the only war that matters."

"You speak of the White Walkers."

"Aye. What do you know?"

"Only what Jon Snow told me when I was at Castle Black. The dead rise moments later as wights with blue eyes…thousands of them at a place north of the Wall called Hardhome. The wights can be killed with fire, but the Walkers can only be killed with dragonglass and Valyrian steel."

"Sadly both are in short supply," Dondarrion said. He looked to his men. "We best move, for soon more Freys will come looking for this bunch."

"The more the better," said the Hound, still giving her dirty looks. Brienne climbed on her horse and they began to ride, north, all of them. After a short time Clegane moved his horse close to her side. She thought he would attack but he only wanted to talk.

"Where is she?"

"Who?"

"Arya Stark."

"She ran away after our fight. We looked for three days but could not find her. Later I thought she might have gone to Saltpans but by then it was too late to search for her."

"And Sansa, the little bird. She is well?"

"If her brother has defeated the Boltons she is very well I pray."

"They say she married Ramsey Bolton."

"She did. Baelish did that, gave her to the Boltons, though I don't know why," Brienne replied. "He helped her escape from King's Landing after Joffrey died, she told me. Cersei still blames Sansa for Joffrey's death. And they also blamed Tyrion Lannister. I left the capital soon after, to find Sansa and Arya, by order of Ser Jaime. As I tried to explain to you before our fight."

"Didn't trust you," the Hound said. "You wanted to take them back to Cersei."

"Never. I was fulfilling Ser Jaime's oath to Lady Catelyn. I wanted to make them safe."

"I told you there was no where safe."

"It seems you were right. No where is safe for anyone anymore."

* * *

 **King's Landing – Arya**

The road south was long and tiring but at last Arya Stark made it to King's Landing in the late afternoon on a very cool day, the last part of the trip on the back of a farmer's wagon. She was dressed in browns and greens, breeches and woolen shirts, with a leather jerkin and a long coat and simple but sturdy boots. Coin she had, coin stolen from the Frey's, but she spent it sparingly, trying not to act as if she had much money, and by the time she got to the city not much was left anyway. Smelly rooms with lumpy beds in inns she took, or a barn for a copper if a farmer was feeling generous. Most were, when they saw she was a girl.

"Not safe for a girl to be alone on the roads," more than one told her.

"I'm going to the capital to apprentice to a seamstress, my father's sister," Arya told them, and they believed her, for Arya had learned how to rule her face and not show her emotions when lying. It was a bit of a jape and a lie, for Arya had always been terrible at needlework, of the sewing kind.

Needle her sword she kept hidden in a bedroll, knowing if she had it by her side it would bring more looks and comments. She had hidden it in the forest near the Twins when she went in the castle to kill Lord Walder. That had been the best kill of her life.

The girl whose face she took to hide among the Freys was nearly dead when Arya found her, left by the road between Saltpans and the Twins by the men who had raped her and killed her mother and father.

"Mercy," she had said to Arya, her voice a bare whisper. Her clothes were ripped, the space between her legs bloody and she had at least two stab wounds in the belly. Arya knew that pain, having spent almost two weeks on Lady Crane's bed in Braavos recovering from when the young girl she thought of as the Waif had stabbed her. Arya had thought she would die, that the wounds would fester, as she had seen happen to many of the bravos who were stabbed in duels and barely managed to crawl to the House of Black and White for the final gift. But the gods had been with her, Lady Crane said, and she had lived. But the gods had not been with Lady Crane, killed by the Waif because Arya had failed to do so. She escaped from the killer, ran through the streets of Braavos, and then calmed herself, made a trap and waited, with enough strength left to kill the Waif in the dark, cut off her face, and leave Braavos for good. She thought Jaqen, or whoever he really was, would stop her, but he let her go and despite her fears no Faceless Men followed her.

A ship she found, bound for Saltpans and other Westerosi ports and Arya took that as an omen, a return to the place she had started from. Some stolen coin bought her a horse, but she had to let him go before she entered the Twins. It was in a village nearby when she heard of the Frey and Lannister feast, and the lords were looking for more girls to help out. Serving girls weren't supposed to have horses, so she left it by the roadside and she was sure someone would find it before long.

Mercy she gave to the girl whose face she took, in the place the Hound had shown her. Arya knew many other places and ways to give the gift of mercy now. But as she cut away the girl's face, she knew there would be no mercy for Walder Frey. He was first on her list. He had to die, soon.

Getting into the Twins was easier than she thought it would be. The celebration was in progress when she arrived, and she merely walked into the castle with some other people and went to the kitchens, put on an apron, and began to serve food and drink. She had served Lord Tywin at Harrenhal and she had served at The House of Black and White so service was nothing new to her. The face she had worn hid her real face, but it did give her some bad thoughts, for the faces of the dead carried the memories of those who had died, and this girl had died in pain. Arya had taken some measure of revenge for the girl and her parents, for she had found their killers the day after she found the bodies, up the road from Saltpans.

Broken men they were, three of them, from the wars of the Riverlands she guessed. It was night and they were sitting around a fire just off the road. Arya slipped off her horse and tied it to a tree and quiet as a mouse she crept up on their fire. As they passed a skin of wine between them she heard them boasting of what they had done to the girl and her parents and on the wars and the battles they had been in. They talked on moving south before winter came to the Riverlands, and each talked on his homeland. One was from the North, from Barrowton, and had been in Robb's army, but now he was an outlaw and so Arya did not care. In silence she waited. Two were soon asleep. The third she gave the gift to as he took a piss, and the others died soon after. She left them there for the crows. They had to eat too.

At the Twins the Lannisters and Freys were celebrating their victory over Riverrun. It was a good thing she wore the dead girl's face, for Jaime Lannister was there. He might not remember her, but he had met her once in Winterfell and had been around when she lived in the Red Keep. He was not on her list, for he had never done her any harm. But he was a Lannister still the same, and as she smiled and poured him wine she thought maybe he should be on her list. As she listened to her enemies boasting of how the Freys and Lannisters had joined forces to kill Robb and her mother, how her uncle the Blackfish had died, how her uncle Edmure was now their prisoner, she knew Jaime Lannister had to die as well as his sister.

The chance to kill Lord Walder did not come till the next day in the late morning, after the Lannisters had left the Twins. Most of the castle was still abed, with heavy heads. She killed two Frey sons first. One had been leering at her during the feast so in the morning as he wandered sleepily into the kitchens it was not hard to entice him into a small store room with promises of sex and soon as he dropped his breeches she slit his throat. The second came looking for his brother, said their father was waiting for them in the great hall, and so he had to die as well. She stripped some meat from their bones and left the remains in the store room. Dealing with the dead didn't bother her for many times she had handled dead bodies in The House of Black and White. She stuffed the bloody flesh in a cold meat pie and then took it to Lord Walder at his head table, served him a piece, and then slit the old man's throat after making sure he knew who was in the pie and who his killer was.

Arya knew the story of the Rat Cook of the Nightfort, who had killed the son of a king and made a pie of his flesh for the king. The cook was cursed to live out his days as a rat for he had broken the solemn law of guest right. Arya feared no retribution from the gods for the Frey meat pie. She was getting revenge for her family, and it was the Freys who had broken the scared laws and should fear the gods.

Leaving was as easy as walking out the door past the guards, who didn't even ask her anything though she now wore the face of Arya Stark again. A horse she stole from the unguarded stables and then she rode hard for the Kingsroad.

It was almost sunset when she reached the Kingsroad and then she had a decision to make. Head north, and home, or south to King's Landing, and kill Cersei Lannister and maybe Jaime as well. North she really wanted to go, to Winterfell and maybe Castle Black. As she served in the Twins she heard many rumors. More than one said the Boltons were in command of Winterfell, as a reward for betraying Robb Stark, and that Roose Bolton, once her father and brother's bannerman, had killed Robb at the Red Wedding. He had to die, and Arya was about to add him to her list when she heard he was already dead, and his son Ramsey was in charge at Winterfell. Even worse he was married to her sister Sansa. No way Sansa would ever marry him, just like she would never have married the Imp. She had to have been forced into it. She added Ramsey to her list.

And one more name. Theon Greyjoy. She learned he had been Ramsey's prisoner but had escaped. The Freys in their cups were laughing about Theon, saying he had become a meek serving man to Ramsey, more dog than man now, but must have at last found his balls and gotten away from his master. Arya had thought him long dead, stories she had heard when wandering the Riverlands with the Hound, about how the Northmen took back Winterfell and had slaughtered the ironborn. She knew Theon had attacked Winterfell and had killed her brothers. If he was still alive, he had to die.

But south was Cersei, and maybe Dondarrion and Thoros and the red woman. They all had to die, Cersei for what she done to her father and the rest of her household who had died in the capital, and the other three for Gendry. The Mountain she had to kill as well, and Ilyn Payne, if both still lived. They were most likely in the capital.

Thinking on her father and Gendry decided it for her. South she turned the horse. But after ten miles it threw a shoe and went lame and so she left it by the Green Fork's banks in a field of fresh grass. She took a bed roll off the horse. It was a thick blanket tied with leather straps, and in it she wrapped Needle and the bit of food and coin she had and slung it over her shoulder. Two sharp daggers she had as well, one up her right sleeve and one in her left boot. The dead girl's face she also kept, wrapped in linen, in case she needed it again. Arya knew other ways to hide her face, taught to her at The House of Black and White, but nothing was better than someone else's face.

She slept but a few hours and was walking again before the dawn. Without a horse she had no hope of catching the Lannister army and Ser Jaime and so put it out of her mind. And she never found the Brotherhood either, though in a few places people said they were about, killing Freys and Lannisters, and getting revenge for the Red Wedding. Arya thought that was good, but it still did not make up for what they had done to Gendry.

Rides she got, and farms and inns she slept in, always telling the same story, about going to the capital to be an apprentice seamstress. A few Lannister patrols they ran into, asking about the Brotherhood, but always the farmers who gave her rides knew nothing and neither did Arya. The last farm she spent the night at the farmer said he was leaving for King's Landing the next morning with a load of hay for the army's horses and so she rode on the hay pile in the back of the wagon. At the city walls no one said a word as the wagon was waved through the gates. As the farmer rode off to find the horse stables, she slipped off the back and disappeared down an alley without even saying goodbye. It was nearing sunset and the streets were full of people, many moving to their homes before night came.

As she came out into a wider street she got a shock. The top of Visenya's Hill was in view, but the Sept of Baelor was not there anymore. An old woman passing by saw her looking that way.

"Gone it is," she said. "Destroyed."

"Destroyed? How?" Arya asked.

"Wildfire," said a man selling melons and apples from a cart behind her. "The Mad King hid some away under it and some fool lit the lot. Killed the Tyrells, brother, sister, and father, and many more. Even the High Sparrow is dead, may the Seven bless him."

"Some fool," the old woman echoed. "Or some queen."

"Mind your words," the man said sharply. "I'll not listen to treason."

"What queen?" Arya asked. "Isn't Tommen the King?"

"Dead, he is," said the woman, her voice sad. "When he heard his wife Margaery had died in the sept his heart broke and he leaped from the Red Keep to his death."

"Aye," the man said. "And now his mother is Queen of us all."

"Gods, no," Arya said, and she turned and looked toward the Red Keep on Aegon's Hill. Cersei…Queen? Yes, she had been Queen before, but that was when she was Robert's wife, not a Queen in her own right. "How can she be Queen?"

"No one knows," the old woman said. "She said she was Queen…and that was that. Where are you from, little one, to not hear this news?'

"I just arrived from the Riverlands. But I've been here before. Now I am going to be an apprentice seamstress to my aunt."

"Ah. I've always enjoyed needlework. So relaxing."

"Yes, it is. Good-day. Thank you."

The woman nodded and Arya walked on, thinking on where she would sleep tonight. Coin she still had, enough for a room. Flea Bottom it would be, where the rooms were cheap and no one would recognize her. As she walked she thought how much harder it would be to kill Cersei now, with her in the Red Keep and surrounded by many guards night and day. She would have to carefully plan this kill.

As she thought on it, she had another thought. She might need some armor of some sort if she was going into the Red Keep. She still remembered the Hound's sharp lesson. Meryn Trant had killed the best swordsman of Braavos because he had a big sword and wore armor. As she thought on it she remembered killing Trant, and how good that had felt, but she also remembered the sharp pain of the Waif's knife digging into her gut and she never wanted that to happen again. She still had many silvers and coppers and one gold piece in her bedroll. Maybe it would be enough for a small shirt of chain mail.

The Street of Steel was not hard to find. She just followed the smell of smoke and the sound of hammering. It started at the bottom of Visenya's Hill, the cheapest shops at the bottom and the best at the top. As she looked up the street, the empty space where the sept had been at the top of the hill was like a raw wound, but few other buildings had been damaged.

The smells and sounds reminded her of Mikken at his forge in Winterfell, or Gendry at the forge in Harrenhal. She stopped at the first shop, on the left side of the street as it went up the hill, and the man said he only made pots and pans and he should see Harstan three doors up. Harstan was a gruff old man with black hair going grey. He did make armor, but he laughed at her.

"Got no mail for girls. Whatcha want that for anyways?"

"I have money."

"Ten dragons for a new shirt of mail."

Arya sighed. "Not that much money. How about used armor?"

He nodded across the street. "Willoughby sells used armor. Mostly junk but he might have something fits you."

Arya turned and then got a shock. Coming up the street was Jaime Lannister with the same dark-haired dark-eyed man he had been sitting with at the Twins. They walked by not two feet from her with four Lannister men behind them.

"It has to be good steel," said Jaime. "Light but strong, and not likely to rust."

"Aye, so you said," said the dark-haired man. "Going to keep the gold one?"

"Yes. If times get tough I can melt it down." Jaime looked at her then, and a strange look came over his face, as if he recognized her. It had been years since she had seen him last, here in the city, during the tournament held for her father after being named Hand. Arya's left hand went into her right sleeve and grasped her dagger, but then they moved on, and Jaime said nothing, and she sighed with relief.

Fool! she said to herself. I should have worn a disguise of some kind. It brought back the memory of the Hound seeing her in that inn. It had been a long time since he had seen her too and still he remembered what she looked like.

A fat middle aged man with brown hair and beard was asleep in a chair just inside the open doors of the smithy, a flagon of something, wine or ale no doubt, on a small table beside him. Probably it was Willoughby, but she could not be sure. She was about to wake him up when she noticed behind him was a smith, tall and brawny, and his back was to Arya. He was busy repairing a breast plate on the anvil, hitting it with his hammer. On the walls were many old swords and daggers, maces and flails, and some pieces of armor.

"Can you help me?" she said in a loud voice to the smith. "I'm looking for some used chain mail."

He didn't turn around, kept beating on the breast plate with his hammer. "Take a look, see if you like something."

She went inside and started looking at the armor on the walls. One small suit of chain mail looked like it might fit her. "This one here," she said. "I'd like to…oh gods."

Out on the street Jaime and his companions were back and it looked like they were searching for something…or someone. She turned around to get deeper into the shadows of the shop and ran smack into the chest of the smith.

She looked up, and he was tall, and had a short beard, lanky black hair, and deep blue eyes. She gasped.

"Gendry?"

"Yes…gods, Arya?"

She couldn't speak, stunned at seeing him and then she whispered. "Hide me! The Lannisters!"

He looked over her head and then quickly grabbed her by the shoulders and took her to the back of the shop where a coal bid was located. "In there, quick!"

"The coal?"

"Hello there!" came a shout from the street and Arya dived into the coal pile and he shoveled some on top of her. It was dusty and foul and she almost coughed but held it back. She wiggled a bit and her head stuck up a bit so she could see and hear.

"Coming," she heard Gendry said. "Yes, my lord, how can I be of service?"

"I'm looking for a girl," said Ser Jaime's voice.

"Ah…there's whorehouses at…"

"You fool, not that kind of girl. Do you know who I am?"

"Ah, no, my lord."

"He's the Queen's brother," said another voice, a slurred voice. "Beg pardons, Ser Jaime. Ben Willoughby's the name. What can we do for your lordship?"

"You're drunk," Jaime said in a distasteful tone.

"Aye, my lord. But I still got the best used armor in the city."

Someone laughed and then Jaime spoke again. "I am looking for a girl, about this tall, with brown hair and grey eyes. Dressed more like a boy than a girl. The man across the street said he pointed her in this direction."

"Haven't seen any girls here, my lord," Willoughby said. "Gendry?"

"Yes, my lord," said Gendry. "Was a girl here a few moments ago looked like that. But she's gone."

"What did she want?" Jaime asked.

"Chain mail. I was just going to show her some but she ran off down the street."

"Check the place," Jaime said and then Arya heard men walking about. She burrowed deeper into the coal, barely able to breath now. She heard footsteps, and things moving as people were looking around, but none looked in the coal bin.

"It's clear," someone said, maybe the dark-haired man "Are you sure it was her?"

"No, I am not sure," said Jaime. "That's why I am looking for her. Come on. We've better things to do."

"Bloody hell," said Willoughby after they were gone. "Next time a lord comes in here wake me up quick."

"Yes, master," Gendry said. "Might be you take off? It's near to sunset. I can deal with any late customers."

"Ah, you're a good lad. Might be I get a bowl of brown at me favorite shop."

"I'll close up in a bit when the forge cools."

"Right you are."

Next thing Arya knew the coal was being pulled aside from around her body and he helped her out. She did cough and sputter now. "You okay…my lady?" he asked with a grin on as he handed her a jug of water. She drank and spat up half of it, black with soot. She drank again, swallowed, and found her voice.

"No," she wanted to scream but spoke quietly. "Get me out of here."

"Wait till I close up." He went to the front and closed the doors. A lamp and the dying forge fire were the only sources of light now. He led her to a basin of water and she cleaned her hands and face but her hair and clothes were covered in soot.

"Why the coal bin?" she asked, angry, as water dripped off her face. She sat on a stool and he sat on another one next to her.

"Would you rather they found you?"

"No." Then she looked at him. "Gods, Gendry, what happened to you?"

He sighed. "It's a long story. And you?"

"Just as long I am sure. But I need a bath first."

"It'll be dark soon. I have a place nearby we can go to. Arya, why was Jaime Lannister looking for you?"

"He saw me across the street, and recognized me I think. Just dumb bad luck, like with the Hound that time."

"We've both had a lot of that."

"Where did she take you?" Arya asked.

"To Dragonstone. A good man helped me escape and I have been here ever since. Couldn't go back to Master Mott's shop. Too many high borns go there, someone might have known me. So here I work, the lowest of the low. Still, I make some coin and it's enough. Where have you been?"

"Many places, but mainly Braavos."

"Braavos?"

"Remember Jaqen H'ghar?"

"How could I forget. You mean…the Faceless Men?"

She nodded. "I spent more than a year training with them." He looked at her in awe. "Don't look at me like that. I'm still Arya."

"Do you still have your list?"

"What? How do…oh. You heard?"

"Every night while the Mountain's men were torturing us."

"That list is shorter now."

"Oh."

"And a few new names have been added. Thoros, Dondarrion, and the red woman."

"For me?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes. You were the only friend I had in the world and they took you away. I escaped from the Brotherhood soon after but the Hound took me. Was going to sell me to Robb and my mother but…but…"

"I heard. I'm sorry."

"So am I."

"I heard the Hound is dead, too."

"Yes. He is."

"Was it you?"

"No." She did not want to talk on that, not yet. She had left him to die, and so be it. She stood, impatient to get clean. "Can't we go now?"

He looked out a small hole in the front doors and nodded. "Yes, it's dark enough. Out the back way."

He made sure the forge was cool enough first, and then out the back door they went, Gendry carrying the lamp with him to light the way. Down an alley first and after a few twists and turns they came to a four story narrow building and went inside and up a set of stairs. Up two flights they went and Gendry used a key to unlock a door on the second landing. Inside he lit a candle on a table and then he placed the lamp on a counter. She saw it was a small one room apartment, with a small privy closet in one corner. There was a table, two wooden chairs, a narrow bed, a stuffed armchair of sorts, and a hearth. Some cupboards had a few dishes, and there was half a loaf of bread and some cheese on the counter where a basin sat. Clothes hung on pegs on the walls. At a glance she knew he lived alone.

"I'll get some water," he said. "Can you light the hearth? There's some kindling already there. And some coal in the iron bucket there."

She soon had a fire going and after a short time he came back with a big wooden bucket full of water, from a public fountain outside he said. He filled a big iron pot and hung it over the hearth fire.

"Here is some soap and a towel," he said. "When the water is warm enough there's heavy mitts there so you don't burn your hands when you pour the water in the basin. Wash up, then heat some more for your clothes. I'm going to get some more food."

"I have some coin."

"Not to worry."

"Gendry…I don't have any more clothes."

He pointed to the pegs on the wall where some of his shirts were hanging. "Put one of those on till your clothes are clean and dry."

The water was soon warm enough and she filled the basin and stripped off and started to wash her body. Older she was now when she had last seen him, and she had flowered and become more womanly. But still she had not kissed a boy…or loved one. As she heated some more water she put her dirty clothes in the now empty bucket and dried off and put on a blue shirt. It was so big it almost reached her knees and she had to roll up the long sleeves.

A knock came to the door. "It's me. Is it okay to come in?"

"Yes." She was sitting in the armchair, her legs pulled up under her body, her hair wet.

He walked in with a large jug of ale in one hand and a canvas bag full of things in the other, which he started to put on the table next to the candle. Then he looked up and saw her and stopped. And stared.

"What?" she asked, unnerved by his look, feeling her cheeks burn.

"Nothing," he said, and he continued to take things out. Sausages, more bread, apples, some small cakes, some carrots, onions, smoked ham, and some dried fish. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes," she said and she got up to check the water. "The water is warm."

"I'll get it. Sit, eat." He used the heavy mitts to take the hot pot from the hearth and then he poured the water over her clothes. "Let them soak a bit," he said as he dropped the bar of soap in with them.

Arya sat and he cut some bread and cheese and got a plate and two mugs and they drank ale and ate and talked forever, on everything. He spoke on what happened on Dragonstone. And then he came to the hard part.

"She came at me, Arya, tried to…tried to…have me. In her bed."

"Oh. Gods."

"But I didn't! She only did it to get me naked, to get my blood, in the leeches."

"What for?"

"King's blood, they said, her and Stannis. They needed it for her spells."

"King's blood? I don't understand."

He stared at her. "Arya…they told me I am Robert Baratheon's son."

"What? Really?"

"Yes. I didn't believe it, but when King Stannis looked at me he knew, said I was half his brother and half some tavern slut. He meant my mother. The more I thought on it, maybe that is why Lord Arryn and your father came to see me at Master Mott's."

"Gods, and that's why the gold cloaks were looking for you!"

"It must have been. It all makes sense now. Joffrey wanted me dead."

"And what did Stannis want with you?"

He hesitated. "He…he wanted to use her black magic…to kill some people."

"What people?"

"His enemies."

"The Lannisters?"

"Yes…and more. Joffrey…and Balon Greyjoy…and…and…Robb Stark."

"What? No, Robb was not Stannis' enemy. My father was trying to get Stannis to help him."

"Arya, they said his name, and dropped the leech filled with my blood in a brazier. Three leeches, for all three kings who opposed Stannis. And then all three died."

"Balon Greyjoy is dead?"

"Yes. A few moon turns ago. People said he fell from a bridge."

Arya shook her head. "It's all wrong. You're not to blame. Black magic didn't kill them. Balon fell. Joffrey was poisoned. Robb was betrayed."

"Maybe. But still…it's very strange they went through all that trouble to find me and pay for me just for a bit of blood."

"It's not true" she said with confidence, knowing he felt bad about Robb. "You did not kill them."

"Maybe not."

"And if it was some kind of magic you didn't use it, they did. They are to blame."

"Maybe."

They were silent for a moment. "How did you escape?" Arya asked at last.

"Ser Davos Seaworth released me, took me to a rowboat and said row for King's Landing. It took a long while, but I got here…and stayed. I think if he hadn't released me they were going to do something worse, maybe even kill me."

"Gods, she must die! Stannis…no, he's dead, I heard."

"Yes. He went to the Wall and saved your brother's men, and…"

"Jon? Tell me what you know, about him and Sansa, and all you've heard and seen. Everything."

It was late when he finished his tales of the West and she finished her tales of the Hound and how he died, and of Braavos, and she even told him she killed Walder Frey, but not about the Frey pie, for maybe he wouldn't understand that. Now Arya knew as much as he did about the news of Westeros. As the candle burned low, he cleared the table of the dishes and she washed her clothes and hung them on the chairs to dry by the hearth. It was getting close to winter here, and the night was cold. Gendry closed his one window's shutters tight and added a few more lumps of coal to the hearth and then sat in the big armchair.

"The bed is yours," he said.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can."

She was too tired to argue and so sat on the bed. She looked over at him and he was staring back, and she felt her cheeks get hot again.

"You're not a little girl anymore," he said so quietly she almost didn't hear him.

She swallowed hard. "No…I'm not." Then suddenly a memory came flooding back and she knew what she wanted. "Do you remember what I said in the cave? When you told me you wanted to join the Brotherhood?"

Silence and then he nodded. "You said 'I can be your family'. And I said you would only be my lady. I never forgot."

"I wouldn't be 'my lady' now," Arya said. "My parents and three brothers are dead. My sister is married to a Bolton and held prisoner more than likely. And Jon…Jon is commander of the Night's Watch. No one even knows I am alive or who I am. I have no family now. I am all alone."

He sighed. "So am I."

"We don't have to be. Neither of us. Not anymore."

He said nothing and so she stood and walked over to the chair. She held out her hand and he gulped, took it, and stood. "Arya…what are you doing?"

"I want you," she said.

She felt him tense up. "Arya, we…"

"Shut up and kiss me," she said, her voice breathless.

"Yes…my lady," he answered without hesitation and she heard the desire in his voice. Then he took her in his strong arms and held her tight and as their lips met for the first time Arya knew she never wanted to be parted from him ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Game of Thrones Season 7 Chapter 2**

 **Oldtown – Samwell**

For Sam Tarly the days were filled with excitement and wonder, as he began his training to be a maester. For Gilly, the days were long and boring and filled with worry for him and her baby boy she had named Sam. No women or children could stay in the Citadel, the institution that trained the maesters. Sam found them a small room over a pub, in a seedier part of Oldtown, all he could afford with what little coin the Watch had given him before they went south. The archmaesters wanted him to sleep at the Citadel, with the other novices, but Sam could not leave Gilly and baby Sam alone. They needed his help, he pleaded to the archmaesters, as they were all alone in the world.

"We do not take wives or father children," said one old archmaester, as five of them questioned Sam a few days after he had first arrived. They were in a room high in the Citadel, and the five old men in their grey robes with their many linked maester's chains sat at a semi-circular table facing him as he stood before them alone.

"I understand," Sam replied. "Men of the Watch cannot marry either. She is not my wife…but the boy is my son, and I care for them, and I cannot leave them alone."

"You're a man of the Night's Watch and you have fathered a child?" one asked in a stern tone.

"Yes," Sam replied in a voice he hoped was full of confidence. "I…all men, I mean me, not all men, I was weak, and gave into…to…"

One of them chuckled. "You do not have to explain what you gave into Tarly."

"Yet our laws are clear," said another. "You must stay here and train…alone."

Sam sighed heavily. "Then I must leave," he told them, and he began to turn around.

"Wait, Samwell Tarly," another archmaester said. The five of them huddled together and spoke in whispers and finally they returned to their seats. "Castle Black must have a maester," said the same one who had told him to wait. "And you are it, it seems. So we have little choice but to agree to allow you to live in the town. You will report for training every morning."

Sam could hardly contain his enthusiasm. "Yes, archmaester. Thank you, thank you, everyone."

Again he turned to go, but again they stopped him. One who had not spoken yet now did so. "These reports you gave when you first arrived. About the White Walkers, and what Lord Commander Snow saw at Hardhome. It seems…unbelievable."

"It's the truth, archmaester," Sam said without hesitation. "I have seen the Walkers myself. I killed one with a dragonglass dagger, I…"

"Dragonglass?" one asked.

"Obsidian," said another. "And you claim to have killed one?"

"I had to. It was coming for the baby. The Walkers took all Crastor…he's Gilly's father, a wildling man…they took all Crastor's sons. We don't know why they do it. But one of them came in the night and wanted Gilly's baby...so I killed it."

"Again, it all sounds so unbelievable."

"It's all true, every word," Sam said, feeling frustrated now. No one ever believed him, not the men of the Watch he told how he killed a Walker, not his father or brother, and now not even these learned men. But he had to make them believe. "The Night King, that's what Jon called their leader. At Hardhome he raised his arms and all the dead wildlings rose and had blue eyes." But again he could tell by their skeptical looks they still did not believe it.

"How well do you know this Lord Commander Snow?" one asked.

"Very well. He and I trained together. He's…he's my best friend."

"Lord Eddard Stark's bastard son, is he not?"

"Yes."

Again the archmaesters huddled and spoke while Sam waited. Finally, they looked back at him. "Tarly, we will take your reports into consideration."

"But…what are we going to do? Soon they will attack the Wall. If they get through they will be everywhere. Jon, Lord Commander Snow, he sent me here to learn all I could and find a way to stop them."

"The Wall will stop them. That is why it was built, was it not?"

"Yes, but…we need to know more about them."

"We will leave that to you. I suggest you start in the Hall of Records. We have all the reports of the maesters of the Wall dating back for hundreds of years."

"Hundreds…of years?" Sam gulped.

"More, in the case of Castle Black. But do your reading when you have time, not during training."

"Yes, archmaester. Again, thank you."

This time they let him go. It was late, near nightfall, and Sam hurried back to the small room where Gilly and baby Sam were. He stopped to get a bit of food for them, carried in a small sack, and by the time he got back the streets were getting darker. Full of excitement he opened the door and started talking in a rush.

"Gilly, they said they would let me…oh."

His father, the stern Lord Randyll Tarly was sitting at one side of their small table in their small room with Gilly and baby Sam in her arms sitting on the other side. The door slammed behind him and Sam's brother Dickon was there. In his hands Lord Tarly had the Valyrian steel sword Heartsbane that Sam had stolen from their home at Horn Hill.

His father stared at him, and Sam quaked in his boots, and dropped his sack of food to the floor. Always his father was angry, Sam hardly ever remembering a time when he was not, but now his anger was so great Sam thought he would die just from his look.

"You think you could steal from me, boy?" Lord Tarly growled. "You think I would not find you and your wildling whore and bastard?"

Sam said nothing, and cast his eyes at the floor. Finally Gilly spoke up. "Why do you hate your son so much?"

Now the baleful glare was cast at her but Gilly was made of sterner stuff than Sam and did not wilt from his look. Sam knew she had suffered from more than just glares from her own father.

"He's no son of mine," Lord Tarly said to her. "A weakly he always was, crying behind his mother's skirts, afraid of everything."

"I told you he killed a Thenn, he killed a White Walker," Gilly began and then Dickon laughed like he had when they told the same story at dinner back in Horn Hill.

"It's true, all of it," Sam said, finding some bravery from Gilly's words. "The White Walkers are marching on the Wall. That's why I took the sword."

"You took it to spite me," his father said.

"No," Sam replied, even though it was partially true. "Valyrian steel can kill them. Jon killed one at Hardhome with Longclaw. You must believe us."

Lord Tarly stood. "I don't believe anything you say. You're lucky I don't have you hung for thievery. If not for your mother I would and that would be an end to it. You want to be a grey mouse, then so be it. Make your chain, return to your frozen Wall, and take your wildling whore and bastard with you. What I said before still stands. You will not set foot in Horn Hill again. If I see you there or know you saw your mother or sister, I will hang you, boy."

He headed for the door and Sam stepped aside and let him go. "Come, Dickon," was all Lord Tarly said and then his father was gone.

Dickon stayed a moment and his face was troubled. "Sam…why did you take it? Of all things, you knew he would not give up till he had it back."

"I told you, I will need it at the Wall."

"He needs it now. We are going to war."

"War? With who?" Gilly asked.

"The Lannisters," Dickon told them. "The Tyrells, or what's left of them, have called their banners. We ride for Highgarden tomorrow, and then for King's Landing."

"You shouldn't be fighting the Lannisters," Sam pleaded. "The real enemy is up north at the Wall."

"No one believes that, Sam. After what Cersei Lannister did, how can we not fight them?"

"Dickon, you must make them believe. Everything we said is true."

Dickon hesitated, his hand on the door latch. "Maybe so. But Father will never believe it. And no one else will. I must go. But first." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a letter. "From Mother. She also said Gilly and the baby can go back to Horn Hill if you want…but after what Father said, you had better not." He gave Sam the letter and then also pressed a small coin sack into his hands. "It's all I have, about ten gold dragons."

"I can't. You'll need it."

"No, you need it more than me. I will be taken care of," Dickon said. "Good luck… brother."

"You as well," Sam said and then Dickon left, and Sam wondered if he would ever see him again. Sam sat at the table and opened the letter. It basically said what Dickon just told him, that Gilly and baby Sam were welcome to come back to Horn Hill and he was not to worry on what his father would think.

"Do you want to go back to Horn Hill?" he asked her.

"What did the maesters say, about you living outside the Citadel?"

"They agreed with my plan."

She smiled. "Then we will stay. We will not be kept apart from you ever again, Sam Tarly."

He smiled and she smiled back and then her face grew sad. "They will never believe us," she said as she hugged baby Sam tight. "Not until the demons kill every last person in the world."

Sam tried to laugh it off. "Oh, that will never happen. Not to worry."

"Sam, I'm not your brother and father. I know what's out there. So do you. I know you are just saying that so I won't worry."

"Well, we are very far south now, so we should be safe."

"No where is safe, for anyone," she told him, and she hugged her baby tight to her body, as if someone was trying to steal him away from her.

* * *

 **The Dothraki Sea – Jorah**

He was weak, weaker than he ever felt in his life. All his strength was going, as the greyscale crept further up his left arm. Now it was at the elbow, and once past there he felt he was doomed. The Queen commanded him to find a cure, and as always he did what she commanded. He would die for her, but to die in this way, far from her side, the gods would be too cruel to let him die in this way. If there was no cure, he would go back to her and die on the field of battle, as he was meant to.

Greyscale could be cured, he knew that much. Stannis Baratheon had a daughter whose face was half greyscale people said, and somehow she had lived. But he never heard how it had been done. As he had left Daenerys and thought on his dilemma he recalled the woman named Quaithe, and how she had tattooed a man's back in order to protect him from the Doom of Valyria where he was supposed to sail near. Maybe she knew of a cure. But she was in Qarth and Jorah knew he would not be welcomed there, for much blood and carnage the Queen and he and her companions had caused in Qarth before they had left.

For a week he rode his horse east across the Dothraki Sea. Grass was plentiful, and cool clear water they found in streams coming off a nearby mountain chain that blocked the eastern horizon as if it was a castle curtain wall. He knew if he followed the mountain chain it would skirt the Red Waste desert and lead him to Qarth. But getting into the city would be another problem.

At villages he stopped and bought food with the little coin he had. The people who lived in the shadow of the mountain chain were akin to the Dothraki, nomadic horse breeders and goat herders, with some pigs and chickens as well, and at times they had warred with the Dothraki, but now they had an uneasy peace. The village elders usually knew some Dothraki and through them Jorah asked about the cure for greyscale, for his dying lover, he always said, who was back in Meereen. Maybe they knew it was he who was ill, for always they gave him some food and sent him quickly on his way, always. Only once did he show his arm, to an old healing woman, for she saw though his lies also but was not afraid of him or the sickness. She slowly peered at his arm before giving a sad sigh and shake of her head.

"You should have cut off the arm," she said in passable Dothraki. "Now it may be too late."

"I will need this arm. Isn't there any cure?"

"Fire," she told him. "You must burn all the hardened flesh away, then burn the surface of the skin up to the shoulder as well. It is the only way."

Jorah balked at the idea. "I may die of the cure. Such burns easily get corrupted."

"Possibly. But you will certainly die of the grey sickness."

He said he needed to think on it, and as it was near nightfall they let him stay in a hut at the edge of the village, one no one wanted, since the last occupant had gone mad after a fall where he hit his head on some rocks, and then killed his wife and two children in the night before slicing his own throat.

Sleep did not come easy for him, worried on his infected arm touching other parts of his body. He kept it wrapped tight in linen and stretched it out to his side while he lay flat on his back. As he lay in the darkness looking up at the hut's ceiling he wondered on the man who had killed his family and himself, and wondered if he should not do the same, before a madness took hold of him.

"You will not die, Jorah the Andal," said a woman's voice and Jorah sat up and grabbed his dagger.

"Who's there?" he asked as he stood.

She stepped out of the shadows, dressed in a green and gold silk dress, and with her lacquered mask on her face. It was Quaithe.

"A friend, from Qarth," she said.

"How can you be here? Qarth is hundreds of leagues to the south."

"I am not here," she said. "But my voice and image are."

"How is that possible?"

"Old magic. A candle, when lit it allows one who knows its power to communicate across vast distances. I heard you, seeking out my name in your thoughts, Jorah the Andal. And so here I am, answering your call."

"I seek a cure, for this," he said and he exposed his sick arm.

"The cure you know," Quaithe told him. "The old woman was not wrong. Fire is the only way."

"Isn't there any other way? I saw you give tattoos to a sailor, who was going near Valyria."

"The tattoos protected him from the curse. You already have it."

"I may die of the cure."

"True, but you will die eventually of the greyscale. And in the end all men die, anyway. Take the cure, quickly, and if you still live rejoin your Queen."

"What news of Daenerys?"

"The slave masters lay siege to Meereen. But her dragons will break them. Then she will sail west."

"You can tell the future?"

"No, no one can. But I can surmise, and this is what my instincts tell me."

He sighed. "Then I will do as you say."

"One more thing," she said. "Tell the Queen she must hurry. In the west, a new power is rising, made of cold and ice, north of the Wall."

"You speak of the White Walkers."

"Yes. They are coming. Tell her to forget all else. She must go north, to stop them."

"I will."

And then she was gone. Jorah did not wait. He awoke the old woman. "If it must be fire, then so be it."

"There will be great pain."

"Aye. What will be will be. Let us begin."

They tied him to a wooden frame they kept to tan hides, his left arm stretched out to the side. They shoved a belt of rawhide in his mouth so he would not bit off his tongue as he shook and screamed. First they gave him strong fermented goat's milk to dull his senses, but nothing could dull the agony as they began to burn away the flesh, all from the infected area, and the upper layer for the rest of the arm. The pain was great, and he shook and screamed for what seemed like hours. And then it was done. For a week after he lay in a feverish state, hovering between life and death, as maggots crawled on his arm and ate away the decaying and burnt flesh. Then he turned the corner, and began to live again. The old woman took some pig skin strips and wrapped his burnt lower arm in them and by some miracle it began to fuse with his flesh. Ten days later and he was ready to leave. Nearly a month had passed since he had left the Queen and it was time to rejoin her.

"You are not healed," said the old woman. "Using the arm will be dangerous. Corruption may still enter the flesh."

"I have no time," he said. He had nothing to give them, except his horse and armor and weapons, and he needed all, but they did not ask for anything…except a promise.

"The Dothraki have bowed to your Queen, you said. All we ask is you ask her to forbid them to raid our lands in the future."

"It will be done," Jorah said, and after he thanked them he rode west, across the grass plains towards Meereen.

The arm was lumpy and ugly to look at but he felt stronger, and the greyscale was gone. Pain shot through the arm as he rode, and holding the reins was difficult, but time was wasting, and he had to ride, to find his Queen, before she left for Westeros.

Too late he was, for when he arrived in Meereen the siege was over, and the Queen was gone with her fleet, seven days earlier. Daario Naharis and the Second Sons had been left behind to hold the city.

"She left me behind because she could not have a lover by her side in Westeros. Not when she may need a husband to bring swords to her side," Daario explained as they stood at the docks.

"Then she did the right thing."

"I told her I loved her."

"So did I. It means nothing. She is a Queen. She will marry who will serve her needs best. It is the way of the West."

Daario explained the rest, told him all the news, how the ironborn Greyjoys had arrived and how Varys came soon after with ships from the Reach and Dorne.

"All of Westeros is rising against the Lannisters," Daario told him. "Soon she will sit on the Iron Throne."

"The Lannisters are not the real enemy," Jorah said. "A ship I need, the fastest one."

"I am coming, too."

"She commanded you to stay."

"Stay here, to rot and die," Daario replied. "The masters will be back. She is gone, and so are her dragons and the bulk of the army. My men are already grumbling about it. Some morning I'll wake up without my head and they will march off or steal a ship anyways."

"Aye, you may be right. But what of the people? They will become slaves again."

"I am sorry for the people, but this is not our home and they are not our people."

"She will be angry you abandoned them."

"Maybe it is time they took matters into their own hands. A people who liberate themselves will never have to serve any master ever again."

Jorah nodded. "It is so. Then gather your men. It is time to sail for Westeros. Time to find our Queen."

* * *

 **Free City of Lys – Daenerys**

The Free City of Lys was situated on an island southeast of the Step Stones. Lys was famed for its beautiful people, who had the blood of Old Valyria running in them as Dany did. Pale blond and silver hair, purple and lilac eyes were everywhere and the men were as breathtaking as the women.

But they were not the only ones Dany observed from the deck of her ship as they tied up at a wharf in a wide harbor. "Slaves," she said with disgust, seeing men and women with tattooed faces carrying loads and moving cargo from ships.

"Yes," said Varys from her side. "Lys is famous for its beautiful slaves who serve in the pillow houses of the east."

"Not everyone is so beautiful," observed Tyrion. "I guess the ugly ones get the dirtiest jobs."

"No one should be a slave," Dany said, her anger obvious.

"We are not here to cause a rebellion, Your Grace," cautioned Tyrion. "We need shelter, supplies, and information, not more enemies. Besides, we are alone, so I think we had best cause no trouble."

"No, of course not," she reluctantly agreed. Alone, for the harbor was full and there was no room for all of their fleet to dock yet. The men who manned the Lyseni ships and forts which protected the harbor were nervous, and Dany had to promise the officials who came out to meet her there would be no trouble. Only her ship was allowed to dock for now, and the others maybe later, after payment was assured for any supplies they purchased.

"Lord Varys, you said you have contacts here," Dany said.

"Yes. I will also stop by the Iron Bank and make sure we have funds for the needed supplies. An hour or two, Your Grace, and I will be back with news."

He left them and not a short time later an officious man came along and said he represented the Iron Bank. Funds had been deposited some time ago by Illyrio Mopatis for her to use at her discretion. Dany received the scroll with the amounts, and then began the tedious business of haggling with merchants and making sure every ship had adequate supplies for the next stage of their journey.

Three days it took to re-supply with food and fodder and water. They thought they had loaded enough in Meereen to reach Westeros, or at least Tarth, but contrary winds had slowed them, and when Varys suggested they stop at Lys, which was the last great city before the Step Stones and Westeros, she had agreed. During the time they were in harbor it rained quite a bit and storm winds blew for two days and many in the fleet thanked the gods they had found a quiet harbor. No one was permitted to go ashore except for Varys, by her order, unless they were helping load the ships. Many grumbled but she did not want drunken sailors and ironborn smashing up pubs and whorehouses and giving the Lyseni people reason to cast them out. This included her dragons, who she reluctantly kept chained up on the decks of the ships they were on, fed and sated, but still wishing they could fly she could tell. Many people came to the docks to see the great dragons and the dragon Queen, and some even shouted out for her to let them see them fly, but she would not risk them or the people if her dragons grew uneasy with such large crowds. They had killed people before.

By the time they had re-supplied and the storm had passed they knew what lay ahead and plans had to change slightly. Still they would land at Tarth, but a few wrinkles were added. Again she called all the commanders to come to her ship's great cabin.

"The North is united," Varys told them. "Sansa Stark and her brother Jon Snow have taken back Winterfell from the Boltons. Roose and Ramsey Bolton are both dead. The Northern lords have proclaimed Jon Snow King in the North. The Vale has joined them, with our old friend Petyr Baelish in command."

"He's no friend of mine," Tyrion said. Dany gave him a questioning look. "A long story, Your Grace. The main point of interest is that once I was a prisoner of Lady Catelyn Stark, who believed I had tried to have someone kill her son Bran. Varys has only recently informed me that it was Baelish who told Ned and Catelyn Stark that the dagger used in the attack was mine. A lie, told to serve Baelish's own interests."

"Strange that he is now an ally of the Stark children," Dany said.

"I believe they don't know Baelish's role in this tale…yet," Tyrion replied.

"Robb knew," Theon Greyjoy said. "But Jon was at the Wall and Sansa was in King's Landing."

"Did you?" Yara asked Tyrion. "Pay an assassin?"

"Certainly not!" Tyrion said in anger. "Who did it is uncertain but Baelish used the event for his own selfish interests. He wanted conflict between Stark and Lannister. What he got was war."

Varys spoke. "I fear all Lord Tyrion says is true, Your Grace. Baelish has been playing the game of thrones for years now, switching his allegiance this way and that as it suits him. A dangerous man, one not to be trusted."

"Very well," Dany said. "Then we won't trust him. But it does cause a problem, having him allied with the Starks. I had always thought the Starks would be my enemy. But Lord Eddard is dead, and from what you say Lord Varys he was against Robert Baratheon sending assassins after me. And now his children seem bent on defending their home and name and have united the North."

"We cannot give independence to the North," Tyrion said. He eyed the Greyjoys. "Already you have set a precedence for this. If you give one more lord a crown they will all clamor for one and there will be chaos."

"Agreed," she said. "But we cannot have the Starks as our enemy either."

"They will never join the Lannisters," Varys told her.

"Good," Dany replied. "Then I want them on my side. I need someone to go to them, to sail for the North, to speak to Sansa Stark and Jon Snow. Someone who knows them both, and knows Baelish as well." Her eyes fell on Tyrion and he blanched.

"Me? Your Grace, may I remind you that Starks hate all Lannisters. They will feed me to their direwolves as soon as speak to me. Besides I am your Hand and must need stay by your side."

"This is vital for our cause and for the future, my lord," she said. "You are my Hand and will now be my ambassador. You will have the appropriate papers to say such. If they mistreat you, remind them of who you represent and of the power I have at my command."

"Very well, Your Grace," Tyrion replied with a sigh. "As soon as we land in Tarth, I will…"

"You will go today," she said. "Lord Varys, did you not say the Lyseni have made peace with the pirates in the Step Stones?"

"Yes, Your Grace. In fact, most of the pirates are originally from Lys."

"Good. Then I am sure we can hire a fast Lyseni ship to take my ambassador safely to the North."

Soon the meeting ended, with plans to sail the next morning made if the weather held good. Varys went off to find a ship for Tyrion, while he lingered behind as did Dany's translator Missandei, who was laying out the Queen's midday meal on the table.

"My Queen, what do you wish me to say to the Starks?" Tyrion asked.

"You will ask them for an alliance. You will impress upon them that there will be only one ruler in Westeros. And you will not mention that I have already given independence to the Iron Islands or even that the Greyjoys are my allies."

"They will find out someday. Let us not forget that Theon Greyjoy attacked Winterfell."

"Yes, but from what he says he also helped save Sansa Stark from the Boltons."

"True… if he is not lying."

"That will have to be sorted out in the future. I want allies, not more enemies, Lord Tyrion. The North cannot be independent. Tell Jon Snow he can be Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell, but that is all."

"He cannot be either, I am afraid, Your Grace. He is a bastard, a Snow, not a Stark. His sister will be the Lady of Winterfell. He will still be Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. In fact, I am surprised he led the attack on Winterfell. The Watch does not get involved in the affairs of the Seven Kingdoms. If he did so…"

But Dany interrupted him. "Missandei, I need to speak with Lord Tyrion alone."

"Yes, Your Grace," she said and soon was gone. Dany poured a cup of wine for herself. Tyrion, of course, already had a cup in hand. She sat at the table and he sat opposite her.

"Varys had some more information, which I told him to keep to himself," she began after a sip of wine. "But it seems you need to know this now. A strange tale is spreading of this Jon Snow. How much is rumor or truth we know not."

"What tale?"

"He made a deal with the wildlings to let them through the Wall, and then his brothers in the Night's Watch murdered him soon after."

"Murdered…but…he's dead?" Tyrion asked in surprise.

"No. Apparently a red priestess of the Lord of Light was there, and she somehow brought him back to life."

Tyrion shook his head in disbelief. "That's…that's impossible."

"I said the same to Varys, and he merely shrugged and said the boy is alive and in Winterfell, leading their armies, and they all seem to worship him. Apparently he quit the Night's Watch, joined his sister, and managed to defeat the Boltons. He also stopped an attack on the Wall by the wildlings and somehow made them his allies."

"It seems he is a man of some ability," Tyrion observed. "I can see why you want him as an ally and not an enemy."

"Yes."

"A red priestess?" Tyrion mused. "Stannis had such a woman. If she is alive, and with Jon Snow, this may complicate matters."

"We won't know until you arrive there. Somehow, anyway you can, make your way to Winterfell, find him, and bring him to our side."

Tyrion chuckled. "Oh, this is going to be interesting." Then his face turned grim. "I am not looking forward to seeing my wife."

"No?"

"An unwanted marriage, Your Grace, for both sides. One never consummated, I must admit. And then she married another man, so..."

"I believe an unconsummated marriage can be annulled."

"Indeed. Let us just hope dear Sansa does not claw my eyes out first. Or anyone else. They do hate Lannisters so very much in the North."

* * *

 **Winterfell – Sansa**

The raven arrived from Castle Black with the most wondrous news. "Bran is still alive!" she shouted after she read the letter. She hugged Jon and she cried and then she saw the troubled look on his face. "Jon, isn't this wonderful?"

"It is," he said, having already read the letter. "Sorry, yes, it's wonderful news." They were in the courtyard when the message was given to them. Jon was readying the army to move north to Castle Black, checking his horse and saddle, with Ghost chewing on some bones nearby. Sansa had been minding her dogs…Ramsey's dogs, she remembered, but now they were hers…when Jon brought her the letter. The dogs she had used to kill her husband had a taste for human flesh, but she kept them well feed, so they would be docile. Yet still they had to be kept caged, and the kennel master was even afraid of them. But not her. She could look at them and feel…something, a connection to the dogs, the same way she used to feel with Lady before she died.

The decision to go to Castle Black had been made two days ago, with all agreeing…all except Lord Baelish, as Sansa knew he would not. He still called for heading south, to defeat the Lannisters first, but Jon and the rest would have nothing to do with it, and the Vale knights were resisting as well. Letters Baelish had written, for Highgarden and Sunspear, asking for aid, and Jon made sure he read the letters before they were sent south by raven. It was a faint hope, as the south was busy with its own troubles, and they could expect nothing from there in the near future.

"Jon…Bran is heir to Winterfell, not me," Sansa said, now understanding his troubled look.

"Aye. So he is. Maybe he should be King in the North." He spoke in a quiet voice, as if not wanting the men around him to know he did not enjoy being king.

"Don't say that," she said just as quietly. "Jon, we need you, now more than ever. Only you are holding this army together. Only you can lead them. If you don't they will fall apart and go their separate ways, like you said."

"You're right. But this changes things Sansa. We must tell everyone this news. I will not hide it from them."

"Let us ask Ser Davos first what he thinks."

Ser Davos had agreed to be Hand of the King, though they did not call him that. Jon merely told the other lords that Ser Davos would be his advisor, as he had been since the Wall, and none complained. It had been Davos' idea, to call him advisor and not Hand, in hope no one would grumble about it.

"We must tell everyone, now," Davos said when they told him the news. "Before you leave. But say nothing of your doubts to be their King. Let them speak their mind first and hear what they say."

So all the commanders and lords and ladies gathered once more in the great hall and the news was read and many were happy but some looked uncertain.

"My brother Bran is the Lord of Winterfell," Jon told them and then he waited. Lord Manderly rose and spoke first, and by his words Sansa knew that they thought Jon thought maybe he should not be King.

"This changes nothing, Your Grace. Your brother is a crippled boy, I am sorry to say. He cannot lead us in war. He cannot be our King." There were many nods of the head and murmurs of agreement.

Lord Cerwyn spoke next. "Why can't there be both a Lord of Winterfell and a King of the North?" Many shouted their agreements to that and soon one by one the lords and ladies pledged themselves to Jon as their King once again. Even the knights of the Vale agreed. Baelish again sat and said nothing and this time Jon did not give him the chance to speak and Sansa was glad of that.

Afterwards Jon and Ser Davos sat with Lord Glover and Lord Manderly and wrote two letters, one for Deepwood Motte and one for White Harbor, telling those left in command there to send men to the Wall, to Shadow Tower in the west and Eastwatch in the east. The main bulk of the army would march up the Kingsroad to Castle Black.

Sansa went back to the great keep, the main central tower of Winterfell, and began to pack what clothes she would need for the Wall. From her previous experience she knew it would be cold up there, and dangerous, but she had to go, to see Bran at least. The letter from him said he had to stay at the Wall, had things to do, and had things to explain to Jon, but nothing more he said of them in his letter.

"You shouldn't go to the Wall," said Baelish from her bedroom's open doorway.

"And you shouldn't be inside a lady's rooms, my lord," she said as she continued to pack, not even looking at him.

"These were your parents' rooms, were they not?"

"They were."

He stepped into the room and looked around and then his eyes fell on her. "You are no longer heir to Winterfell. There is no need for you to stay here or go back to the Wall."

She knew what he wanted, but was not afraid. This was her home and she was the lady of the house now no matter what else was true. "Where would I go, my lord?" she asked, still folding her clothes and putting them in a trunk.

"To the Vale, where you will be safe. It's mountains and fortresses have never been breached."

"To be Lord Robin's wife? Or yours?" she asked, a mocking hint in her tone.

He picked up on it. "I know you do not wish that. But what happens to you now? Will your brothers marry you off to another man you don't love?"

Now she got mad and turned to face him. "Like the Lannisters did? Like you did?"

"I told you I did not know Ramsey was so cruel."

"I don't believe you. You did it for your own selfish reasons, like you do everything. You saved me from King's Landing, for what? To use me like they did. You say you love me, but a man who loved me would never have given me to that monster."

"I do love you," he pleaded, stepping closer towards her. "You can sit by my side, as lady of the Vale and one day as Queen of Westeros, like you dreamed of."

"My dreams have gotten a little smaller, my lord," she said, her anger subsiding a bit. "I will serve my house and my brothers, as a lady of Winterfell should."

"Some day you will change your mind."

"No, never. And if you are thinking of some plot to hurt me or my family, remember this, my lord. I know your secrets. I know who really killed Joffrey. And I know who really killed my aunt Lysa."

Now his demeanor turned dark. "Such secrets should be kept. I'd hate to see what would happen to this coalition if the knights of the Vale think you betrayed them."

His words shocked her. "Me? I never betrayed them! You did!"

"Who is to say who pushed Lysa out the moon door? Only you and I were there. You lied so well to the lords and lady that day. When they learn the truth, that I was trying to cover up your crime, that you pushed her while she tried to push you out the door, what will they do? An accident, they may think it, but why chance it? Self-defense perhaps, but who knows what Lord Robin will say when he hears the truth? Better to say nothing."

"Gods," she said in exasperation. "You are a monster."

"No, I am just a man who knows what he wants and will do anything to get it."

"Sansa," came Jon's shout from the outer rooms. "Sansa…oh. Lord Baelish." Jon stared at him, his mood now angry. "You should not be here alone with my sister."

He smiled. "I was just wishing her goodbye and good luck at the Wall, Your Grace."

Jon turned to Sansa. "Yes," she said. "He was just leaving."

"I can't let you go back to the Wall," Jon said to her. "It's not safe."

"What? But…I have to see Bran. I can't stay here."

"A Stark needs to be in Winterfell," he said. "You will be in command, with some good men I will leave to advise you. Including Ser Davos. Lord Baelish, I hear you will also stay behind."

"Of course. I must coordinate the reinforcements and supplies coming from the Vale."

"How many reinforcements?"

"Hard to say. I have not yet had a reply to my raven."

"When they arrive, you will join them and march to Castle Black."

"Certainly, Your Grace." He dipped his head and left.

Sansa had said nothing of his threats but she had to remind Jon of the danger of Baelish. "Jon, do not trust him. Take him with you now. Or send him back to the Vale."

"As you said, we need the knights of the Vale and more allies if he can bring them."

She knew he was right, her own words just a few days ago. "Yes, we need them." Then she realized what he had just told her. "I am in command?"

"You are a Stark and a Stark should be in command of Winterfell."

She smiled. "What are your orders…Your Grace?" she asked.

"Defend the castle, care for the wounded, send supplies to us, and any news from the south. And make sure Baelish does not cause any mischief."

She thought to tell him what Baelish had said, but he had enough on his mind. "I'll make sure he will not do any harm."

"Good. Now, I must prepare. We leave in an hour."

He left her and Sansa turned back to her trunk and started to remove her clothes, her mind now determined on a course of action. It had to be done, or she would never be rid of him. She just needed a pretext, a reason to do it, something that without a doubt he was guilty of, something she could prove without endangering herself or their coalition. Then she would hang Petyr Baelish from the neck until he was dead.

* * *

 **King's Landing – Jaime**

There she was, a girl, not much over five feet tall, with brown hair and grey eyes, dressed in breeches and coat, and Jaime had a sudden flash of recognition. I know her, he thought…but how could he know some common smallfolk girl? As he walked on up the hill, it came to him in a flash, when he thought of Ned Stark and how he and Jon Arryn found Robert's bastard on this very street, and all the trouble that came of that. He thought of Ned Stark…and his daughter Arya, the one they never found.

They had looked but could not find her, asking at many shops but none saw her but one blacksmith who said she asked for chain mail but ran away before her could serve her. Jaime put it out of his mind, thinking he must have been wrong, and found a shop that could make him a proper steel hand. The master smith took measurements, drew a design Jaime agreed on, and promised to have it done in a few days. Jaime paid the man and they went back to the Red Keep.

That night Cersei asked him to eat with her and so he did, knowing he must maintain some form of relationship with his sister and Queen, even if she was no longer his lover. It was a quiet, uncomfortable meal, with her guards around her, and Jaime sitting as far away from her as he could at the table. She had been very formal with him since he had refused her advances that first day, and at first she spoke on the coming war and their defenses, but now she had too much wine and was becoming flirtatious.

"Leave us," she said to the guards.

After they were gone, she stood and came to him, and sat by his side. "Jaime…too many years we have played this game. I know you still want me. I can see it in your eyes," she said in a voice dripping of lust. "Those I killed died because they wanted to stop us, to stop our love. If I had let them try me, what would have happened? I would have been found guilty, for I _was_ guilty of all they said. Then they would have taken my head."

"Tommen would never have allowed that."

"Maybe not. But better that than a prison cell or to become a septa or a Silent Sister. I had to destroy them."

"And Tommen as well?"

That hurt her, he saw. "I told you that was not my doing. I made sure he stayed away from the sept. I did not know our son was so…fragile. Jaime, I am asking for your forgiveness. I need you by my side…in all things."

"I told you they will tear us to pieces if…"

She laughed, a harsh cold laugh. "You are a fool if you think they don't already believe we are fucking every night. Nothing will change what they think of us. We may as well enjoy ourselves while we still have life."

She touched him then, her hand on his good hand, and he felt that thrill he always got from their forbidden love. But then he snatched his hand away and said the first thing that came into his head that would distract her.

"I saw Arya Stark."

She stared at him, shocked into silence and then found her voice. "When?"

"This afternoon, in the Street of Steel."

"Then why is she not in a cell this evening?" she asked, her voice rising.

"I wasn't certain it was her. I hadn't seen her in years, no one has. I thought she was dead. When I went back to look for her she was gone."

"How certain are you it was her? What did she look like?"

Jaime explained and Cersei seethed. "Gods, it was her!"

"After all this time? Why would she come back here?"

"She never left. Varys thought she was hiding in the city somewhere or dead. I want her found and put in a cell."

"Cersei, what does it matter? She is just one girl. Her family is dead."

"Not her brother who has half my kingdom. Not her sister, who killed my son. I want her Jaime! Go, now, start looking!"

He stood and left her and went and found Bronn, who was drinking in the barracks and playing dice with some of the men. "The Queen has ordered us to find Arya Stark."

"Thought you said it wasn't her."

"I said I wasn't sure. Cersei thinks it was her. Now she wants her as a hostage."

"Grasping at straws, is she?"

"Yes."

"Look," Bronn said. "What good is looking for the Stark girl going to do us? It ain't her sister and brother going to attack us, now is it?"

"Just…find her. I will give you a nice fat bag of gold if you do. And you know, Lannisters always…"

"I bloody well know. It's late now. I'll start in the morning."

"Where will you look?"

"That shop where the smith said he talked to her seems like a good place."

"He said she ran away."

"Aye, he did. But he might have been lying. Maybe if I twist his arm a bit…"

Jaime shook his head. "The small folk already hate us enough. Offer him gold if he has anything useful to tell you."

The next morning at the small council meeting he told Cersei the search was underway and she seemed happy. Then Qyburn told them the latest bad news.

"The Golden Company has refused our offer of employment."

Cersei already seemed to know this judging by her lack of reaction. "Did they say why?" Jaime asked Qyburn.

"They have a contract with Myr in a dispute with Tyrosh. They never break a contract, the letter said. Bad for their reputation."

"Did you say we will double what Myr is paying?"

"The letter is already sent," Cersei said. "I offered triple. But we need swords now. Bronn must surely know some cutthroats that can get here faster."

"Surely," Jaime replied. "I will ask. If that is all, I must…"

"There is more bad news I am afraid, my lord, Your Grace," Qyburn said. "A ship from Volantis came into port yesterday. It seems a large fleet flying banners of Dorne, the Reach, the Greyjoys, and the Targaryen three headed dragon is making its way west…from Meereen."

"Gods," Cersei said, fear in her voice. This she did not know yet. "It's her. Daenerys Targaryen."

"Yes," Qyburn said. "It seems likely, Your Grace."

"How soon will they be here?" Jaime asked.

"A month, maybe less," Qyburn said. "Depending on the winds and the weather."

"How many ships?" Jaime asked.

"Hundreds, the captain said. Mostly galleys, with some cogs as well."

"Greyjoy banners you said?" Jaime questioned. "Not Euron Greyjoy?"

"Not likely," Qyburn said. "I would venture it is his niece and nephew. Seeking a patron to help them take back their islands from their uncle."

"We have a naval force to oppose them?" Cersei asked.

"Not enough," Jaime told her. "Ten triremes, a dozen galleys. They may slow them down, but if she has her dragons…"

"All reports seem to think so," Qyburn said. "Quite large dragons now."

"What of Euron Greyjoy and our offer to him?" Cersei asked.

"As yet there is no word, Your Grace. He may not even know of our offer. I have just learned he left the Iron Islands a few weeks past with dozens of ships…but no one knows where they are now."

"Another faint hope lost," Cersei said in a grim tone. "How long before our enemies are at the gates?"

"Daenerys cannot be here for many weeks yet," Jaime said. "Dorne either. But the Reach…what news from Highgarden?"

"The banners have gathered, and the march has begun," Qyburn told them. "I would estimate in two weeks they will be on the Blackwater."

* * *

 **Highgarden – Olenna**

As Lady Olenna Tyrell stood on a balcony of the great castle of Highgarden watching the columns of men and horses and supply wagons exiting the city gates and moving up the Roseroad, with the banners flying, the musicians playing the old marching songs of the Reach, and the crowds cheering the men, she felt some small measure of satisfaction knowing the Lannister whore would soon pay for her crimes.

Behind her in the room the lords and officers were making their last plans, standing around a table looking at a map. Randyll Tarly would command the army, as he was their finest soldier. He was here with his son Dickon who served as his squire. Tarly was the only one to beat Robert Baratheon during the rebellion at Ashford…beat him but Robert had gotten away with his life, and so the war had gone on.

"The Dornish will join us below the Blackwater," Tarly was saying. "We should be there in two weeks of hard marching. The Dornish might come later, but we cannot wait. We must attack before the winter snows arrive."

"Shouldn't we wait for the Targaryen girl and her dragons, my lord?" one old soldier asked.

"It would be best," Tarly said. "But we have no idea when she will arrive or even where she is now. We cannot let the Lannisters gain any initiative."

"What about Casterly Rock?" someone asked.

Tarly shook his head. "When the capital falls and Cersei is dead, Casterly Rock and the Westerlands will surrender. We leave enough men here to defend our lands from the west, and with the rest we strike for the capital. If they stay inside their walls we lay siege until Daenerys and her dragons arrive."

Olenna came to the table and the soldiers quickly moved aside for her. She had a reputation for speaking her mind and these men knew it. She stared at Tarly. "My lord, you understand there will be no mercy. You will destroy their army, with or without the dragons. And when we are victorious, I want Cersei captured, alive."

Tarly grunted. "As you say, my lady, though I'd sooner just kill her and have done with it."

"That monster Clegane protects her night and day," said another lord. "Can you kill what is already dead?"

"He will be trouble," said someone else.

"He is but one man, alive or dead," said Olenna. "Cut him to pieces, burn him, whatever it takes to kill the demon. The Kingslayer as well."

Tarly frowned. "Daenerys will want the Kingslayer for herself. He did kill her father."

Olenna saw the wisdom of that. "Very well. But Cersei is mine to deal with."

"What are your plans for her, my lady?" Tarly asked. "Do you plan to try her?"

"No, I plan to burn her."

That took the soldiers aback. "Burn…a woman?" one said as if that dishonored them.

"I will pay her back in the same coin she gave my family," Olenna told them. "Your lord and his heir and sister were foully murdered. The whore will burn. The Mad King hung his enemies over a blazing fire and watched them slowly cook. We will not be so cruel, but she must die. She will burn at the stake, in front of all, and her screams will give us our revenge and satisfaction."

She looked at their faces and she saw many were not pleased with this. Honorable knights and lords, who would not shirk from gutting a man or cutting off his head, but balked at harming women, even one as evil as Cersei Lannister. Tarly, however, showed no emotion at all, stern as usual. "We will hold her till you arrive, my lady. You may dispose of her as you wish."

"Good. The army awaits you, my lords. Lord Tarly, wait a moment, if you please."

They started to disperse as Tarly remained behind with his son. Olenna went to a corner where a desk sat, covered in papers and scrolls. She picked a raven scroll up and took it to Tarly. "From Petyr Baelish," she said.

He took it without question and began to read. "He's in Winterfell?" he said in surprise and he kept reading. "So, Jon Snow has defeated the Boltons and holds the castle."

"Quite so," said Olenna. "He has united the North and they are calling him king. The Vale has sided with him and now he wants our help…in countering these beings he calls the White Walkers."

"So they are real," Dickon Tarly said.

"Hold your tongue," Tarly snapped at his son.

Olenna sensed a tension between the two. "What does he mean?" she asked.

"It is nothing my lady, just lies," Tarly responded.

"Not lies, Father," Dickon Tarly said. "Sam would not lie to us. I believe him."

"Will someone tell me what all this nonsense is about?" Olenna said, her anger obvious.

"The White Walkers," Dickon said quickly before his father could speak. "My brother Sam is in the Night's Watch. He said thousands of demons are marching on the Wall. Claims he even killed one of them."

"When did you hear this?" she asked, concerned now. She had been ready to dismiss it as one of Littlefinger's plots, but now she wondered.

Tarly gave his son a glare and then turned to her. "Sam is training to be a maester at the Citadel. We saw him before we came here. It's all nonsense, my lady. Tales of a scared boy trying to be more than he is."

Olenna had heard something of this Sam Tarly and how Lord Tarly had banished him to the Wall years ago. Gossip about one of the Reach's prominent families, especially concerning its heir, did not go unnoticed.

"Perhaps," she said. "But this Jon Snow, he seems to be not a scared boy. They say he commands the Night's Watch and now he has destroyed the Bolton's army. His sister Sansa I was fond of when in King's Landing. Then they married her to the Imp and later to the Bolton bastard. Seems she has survived them all."

"This does not change our plans," Tarly told her.

"Not concerning the Lannisters, no," she replied. "I am certain Jon Snow hates them as well as us. They did kill his father after all."

"If this bastard Snow is calling himself King in the North, he cannot be our ally. He will soon be our enemy."

"Maybe," Olenna said. "Daenerys might think ill of this news of a rival king in Westeros. She will want her whole kingdom, not pieces of it."

"We will deal with this upstart Snow when the Lannisters are defeated," Tarly promised.

The son now spoke up. "Maybe we should be his ally, Father, not his enemy."

"Agreed," Olenna said, before Tarly could shout at his son, as he seemed to be about to do. "If the White Walkers exist, Daenerys will want to know of this as well. A letter I will give you for her. Then she will decide what to do about Jon Snow and these demons."

* * *

 **King's Landing – Gendry**

He awoke in the bed, alone, and for a moment he thought it had all been a dream. Then he heard a foot scrape along the floor and he looked up. She was standing in the middle of his room, the table pushed to one side, and in her left hand was a long slim blade. She was practicing sword fighting, and he knew that sword. He said nothing, watching her, still trying to believe she was here and had been in his arms last night.

Arya saw he was awake, lowered the sword and smiled. "Good morning," she said and leaned over and kissed him, a warm pleasant sensation coming with the kiss.

"Good morning," he replied. "Sleep well?"

She blushed. "A little. Gods, Gendry…I…last night…wow."

"Yeah…wow." They looked at each other and then they both laughed at the same time.

"So," she said. "What happens now?"

"First, I have to go to work. I…my clothes." He was naked under the blanket and as yet they had not seen each other in the full light of day.

"Oh, right." She tossed him his clothes from where they lay on the armchair by the now cold hearth. "I'll get some food for you."

"Is it Needle, your sword?" Gendry asked as he sat up, and pulled on his small clothes and breeches.

"Yes," Arya replied from the counter where she was cutting some bread. "I took it back off Polliver. And then I killed him with it."

"Yes. You told me last night. Maybe Lommy can rest in peace now."

"I hope so," she said.

In a short while they sat at the table, eating a bit of bread and cold ham and drinking the last of the ale he had bought the night before. She kept staring at him and he blushed.

"What?"

"Just…I can't believe I found you," she said. "I thought…for the longest time I thought you had died."

"Not yet."

"Gendry…what are we going to do?"

"I'm going to work, I said."

"No…I mean about us."

Us. He did not know what to say about that so he started with something simple. "You can stay here as long as you like. I mean…I don't want you to go."

"But…maybe it's not so safe…for you, I mean. The Lannisters might still be looking for me."

"I don't want you to go," he repeated.

"I don't either," she said. "But I don't want them to come after you, too."

He had to ask her. "Arya…why did you come to King's Landing?"

"You know why. You heard me last night, didn't you? My list?"

"Yes," he said and lowered his voice. "Arya, you can't kill them all. Thoros and Dondarrion always have their band with them. The red woman went north with Stannis I bet and is most likely dead now, too. The Mountain is mostly dead anyway, people say. Ilyn Payne is still headsman and lives in the Red Keep. So do Ser Jaime and the Queen. You'll never get near them or away with it if you do. War is coming here. The Tyrells and Dornish are going to attack everyone says. Let them take care of the Lannisters."

She sighed. "Maybe…but they all deserve to die, by my hand. Those first three for what they did to you. Cersei killed my people and put my father in prison and held my sister hostage. Ilyn Payne killed my father. And the Mountain…you know why I want him dead."

"People say he can't be killed, that the poison in him is keeping him alive somehow."

"Anyone can be killed," she said, and he saw a deadness in her eyes. He knew he had to say something to her, to turn her from this path.

"Arya…please don't do this. I just…I just found you again. I don't want to lose you. Especially not now."

"Gendry…I…I have to, can't you understand?"

"I understand why, but if you die…" But he couldn't say it. He stood and went to get his coat from the wall peg and then she was there behind him, and she turned him around.

"Tell me," she said.

He sighed and did not want to say that. It was too soon and he wasn't sure anyway...or if she felt the same. "It's nothing. I have to work. Just, stay here, don't answer the door unless it's me. I'll be back at sunset. Promise me this, please?"

"I promise," she said and he nodded, kissed her once, and then he left.

All morning his mind was a whirl with what had happened. The last person he had ever expected to see again was Arya. It had shattered him to say goodbye all those years ago, dragged off like a pig to be slaughtered, all because they said he was a king's son. Gendry hadn't believed it at first but now he did, and now knew that's why Lords Stark and Arryn had visited him and why the gold cloaks had wanted him. Many a time since his return he had looked up at the Red Keep and wondered what his life would have been like if King Robert had said he was his son. He was older than Joffrey, so maybe he would be king now and there would be no wars. But no, that wouldn't work, stupid, he told himself. The Lannisters would have killed him, called him bastard. If the stories were true Joffrey and his brother and sister were also bastards. But they were all dead now too.

As for Arya, he had been developing feelings for her during their time together, but she was still so young he had dismissed them from his mind. Besides, she was a lord's daughter. When she had said 'I can be your family' he had wondered what she had meant. That they could be married, or he could be like her brother, or what? But no matter, she would still be 'my lady' for she was high born and he was smallfolk and that was all there was to it. Now…now it was different, as she had said last night. She was alone and so was he. She was older, she was a woman, she had desires…and so did he. When they finally gave in to those desires it had been awkward and he had been a little clumsy, but she didn't care, and so they made love, more than once, before they finally slept.

Work took his mind off of all these things. Old Ben was late as usual and Gendry had to deal with a few customers, fixing a sword hilt for one man, and mending a gauntlet for another customer. The owner of the shop next door dropped by and said he heard a rumor that soon the Lannisters would draft some of the smiths into their army. Finally Old Ben arrived and he had more news, sad news.

"I'm sorry, lad, but Tobho Mott died in the night," he told Gendry.

"Oh…thanks for telling me."

"Funeral is tomorrow. We'll close the shop in the morning. I'm off now to pay my respects to his widow."

"Okay."

Tobho Mott had been one the few people on the Street of Steel to be hurt when the sept exploded. His shop was at the very top of the hill, closest to the sept, and some bricks and masonry had crashed through the roof and had buried him and his two apprentices. One apprentice was dead when they uncovered him, the other had a broken arm, and Mott was unconscious, from a blow to the head. And now he was dead.

Gendry was still thinking on his old master and the years they had spent together, and the fact that he might be dead now too if he had gone back to work for him, when a new customer's voice called from the street.

"Morning," the man said and as Gendry looked up he felt his gut clench. It was one of the men who had been with Jaime Lannister yesterday. He was black-haired, dark-eyed, with a beard and mustache, and wore mostly black clothing and what looked like black leather armor. He had three weapons, a sword and dagger at his belt and the hilt of a fighting knife sticking out from behind his back, and he looked like a man who knew how to use them.

"Morning, my lord," Gendry said.

"Not a lord," the man said. "Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. Know why they call me that?"

"You fought at the Battle of the Blackwater?" Gendry ventured.

"Aye, right you are. I'm the one that set the wildfire off that destroyed half Stannis' fleet. Was quite a sight."

"I didn't see…I mean, I saw the broken ships in the bay."

"Oh? Didn't see the explosion then?"

"No…I was…I was busy…making weapons for the army."

"Lad your size you should have been holding a weapon."

"Someone has to make swords and mend the armor, ser."

"Suppose so," he said and then he grinned. "So, where is she?"

Gendry was never good at lying, never had call for it, until the day he was told to leave Master Mott's shop and go join the Night's Watch. "Who…who? My lord, ser," he asked in a nervous voice.

Bronn laughed. "The girl we was looking for yesterday, that's who. Arya Stark's the name."

He knew his face was getting hot and red but he kept up the lie. "Don't know her, ser. Told you a girl was here but she ran off."

"So you said. Now listen, lad, them Lannisters got more gold than sense, and they will give away a nice bag of it for her. Be smart, and you could have your own shop before you know it."

"Can't help you," Gendry told him, and now he felt his anger rising.

"Right," said Bronn said after a long hard stare which Gendry returned. "You change your mind, ask for me at the army barracks." He walked away, up the street, and after he was gone Gendry didn't know what to do. His first instinct was to run off and tell Arya to run away, but if he did that they might follow him. And he didn't really want her to run away, either.

The rest of the day passed by without much incident. He kept looking for any Lannister men, but saw none. Old Ben never came back, and Gendry knew he was off drunk somewhere. He took a short break to get some food, just a small apple cake from a nearby bakery. They wanted three coppers for it, when it was usually two. Prices for flour were rising, the baker told him, and that was not good.

Darkness came and he carefully made his way home making sure no one was following him. He bought more ale and a bit more food. But when he knocked on the door, to warn Arya he was home, no one answered. He took out his key and opened the door…she was gone.

Maybe she never was here, he thought, but after he put the lamp he carried and the ale jug and food down on the counter by the basin he saw her bedroll on the floor just under the bed. He took out the bedroll and unrolled it. The sword Needle was still there.

"She never would have left without this," he thought. He picked it up and examined the workmanship. He had seen it up close a few times but never had time to carefully look it over. There by the hilt was the marker's mark, a stylized "M". He tried to remember who had made it for her, but couldn't. She said her brother Jon had done it, the same one Arya said was commander of the Night's Watch now, but most likely a smith in Winterfell had done the work at Jon's behest.

A knock came to the door, and in his belief it was her he forgot to be cautious and opened the door quick. It was not Arya.

"Now, now," said Ser Bronn, hand on his sword hilt. "Best put that little sword down less you want to get hurt."

"I…what do you want?"

"You know who we want," Bronn said as he pushed his way into the room and took the sword from Gendry, who did not even resist. There was no point, as behind Bronn were four Lannister men. They all came in and searched but found nothing as there was nothing to find. "You two," Bronn said to a pair of the men. "Mind the street from each end. You in the stairway, and you inside by the window, watching the street below."

They moved to do what he said, the one by the window opening the shutters and letting in the cold evening air. Bronn closed the door and leaned against the wall next to the doorway and slipped Needle into his belt on the left side. "Now, you just sit yourself down and all will be well. We'll just wait here for her to come back."

Gendry did not sit, but stood facing Bronn. "I told you I don't know anyone named Arya Stark."

"So you said. But I did some asking around on your street after I saw you this morning. A bit of that Lannister gold loosened a few tongues. They said you used to work for fellow name Mott, who is now dead. Then you disappeared one day, and the next day the gold cloaks was here looking for you. That was a few years ago. Then you showed up again about two or so years ago, took a job in the worst shop on the street. When I mentioned all this to Ser Jaime later on, and he remembered your name from yesterday, and what you looked like, know what he said?"

"I can guess," Gendry said, knowing where this was going.

"He said you were Robert's bastard, and that a long time ago Joffrey wanted you dead. He also said Ned Stark and Jon Arryn came to see you, both before they died, and that you might be the reason the whole realm now believes Cersei's brats was never Robert's. So, any truth to it?"

"All," Gendry said, seeing no point in lying.

"Oh, so you're royalty, are you?" Bronn said in a jesting way.

"I'm a bastard. And it still doesn't mean I know a girl named Arya Stark."

"No, it doesn't," Bronn replied. "But I also went asking the gold cloaks about you. Took some looking but one old sergeant remembered the tale. He said your master told them he gave you to the Night's Watch recruiter. Then they sent a party up the Kingsroad to find you. Some Lannister men helped them search. There was a fight at a holdfast and the Night's Watch man and you and a few more supposedly died and a bunch was taken prisoner to Harrenhal. Funny thing is when they took your head back to show Joffrey, he almost had them executed cause they brought back some blond haired boy's head who looked nothing like Robert. Of course, they was a bit busy with the war with Stannis down here. By the time they sent word to Harrenhal to find you, some prisoners was dead, some still alive, and three had escaped…a dark-haired blue-eyed smith, a fat baker's boy, and a serving girl…a girl with short brown hair who used to pretend to be a boy and was captured with the Night's Watch group."

Gendry couldn't believe he could find all that out in half a day. He said nothing as Bronn stared at him. The Lannister man at the window had turned around to listen and now he snickered. "Sounds like a hell of a story. You saying the Stark girl was the one who escaped with him?"

"I am," said Bronn.

"I heard she was dead, years ago, same as her father, mother, and brother."

"She's not dead," said a voice from the window and the Lannister man's eyes went wide and blood spurted from his mouth. There was the sound of a knife being pulled out of the back of his neck and he fell to the floor.

"Gods," Gendry said as Bronn's eyes went flat and he pulled out the big fighting knife from behind his back and went to throw it at…someone. A girl was in the window, dressed like Arya, with dark stains on her clothes…but it was not Arya. Gendry leaped at Bronn, crashing into the knight's arm and throwing off his aim, the knife sailing out the window past the girl's head as she leaped into the room.

Gendry had no time to think on who she was as Bronn's fist smashed him in the head. The door slammed open and the Lannister man who was in the stairway charged into the room, trying to pull his sword out. But he had no room to move quickly enough and he died choking on his own blood as the lightning fast girl stuck a dagger into his throat.

Gendry was dazed by the blow but not knocked down and now he swung a big meaty fist that connected with the side of Bronn's head. The man was tough, and took the blow and then tried to pull out his small dagger. Gendry slammed him against the wall and the two fell to the floor all tangled together as Bronn's dagger skidded away.

"Get out of the way so I can kill him!" the girl shouted and she did sound like Arya.

Gendry rose first and had picked up Bronn by the front of his leather armor. A punch in the guts staggered Gendry but he did not let go. He punched him as hard as he could with his huge right hand and Bronn took it on the chin, went backwards, tripped over the Lannister man's body, hit the open window sill and went over the edge and down to the street below.

"Gendry!"

"Arya?"

"Yes," she said and then she reached up, and tugged at something under her chin and pulled and to his shock and horror the girl's whole face came off…and it was Arya!

"How...?"

"Later," she said as she dropped the face to the floor. "They'll know that one now. We have to go! Get food and coin if you have any."

He hurried, grabbed a canvas bag and stuffed some clothes and all the food he had inside, and grabbed his coin purse as well, with a bit of silver and copper in it.

"Where's Needle?" she asked, worried, after she picked up her bedroll.

"Ser Bronn has it."

"Who?"

"Out the window."

"Come on!"

Down the stairs they went, and found a groaning, dazed but still alive Bronn on the street, his left arm bent under his body, plus many more people, all looking their way. Arya leaped on Bronn's chest, and had her dagger out and seemed about to stab the knight when she stopped.

Bronn's eyes were wide and looking at them. "No, I won't kill you," Arya said to Bronn in an eerily calm voice, her dagger at his throat. "I have a message for your masters. Tell Cersei and Jaime that Starks also pay their debts. Tell them they'll find Ilyn Payne's body on the rocks below the Red Keep."

She then pulled Needle off his belt and as more people gathered they were running as fast as they could, and at the end of the street there was another body, pulled halfway into an alley, a Lannister man, dead, and Gendry knew she had done it, but said nothing.

"Follow me!" he said and down more dark streets and alleys they went, running away from the scene of the crime, and into an uncertain future.

* * *

 **King's Landing – Jaime**

The head they found first, driven onto a spike, on an outer wall of the Red Keep, one facing the sea. The neck had been hacked at and sawed at with a dagger, not a clean cut a sword would have made. The body they found later after Jaime had talked to Bronn.

"Gods, it's Ilyn Payne, my lord," a gold cloak captain said in horror as Jaime looked up at the head staring down.

"Yes, it is," Jaime said. "Get it down." It was just before sunset when someone finally noticed the head on the outer wall. Questions were asked but no one knew how it had gotten there or how long it had been there. The first thought that came to him was that an assassin somehow got into the Red Keep. "Lock down the castle!" he commanded. "Make sure the Queen is safe!"

She was and she was livid as he expected. "Ilyn Payne? And who do we know would want him dead?"

He knew who she meant. "Arya Stark."

"Find her!"

It was now dark and he had no sooner returned to the main gates on his horse when word came of a fight near the Street of Steel. Four men were dead and Bronn was barely alive, said the breathless messenger from his winded horse.

At the scene were many of his men and some gold cloaks, talking to people, trying to get the story. The bodies were being placed on a cart to be hauled away. Bronn was more than barely alive, though he was bruised and battered. He was in a one room second floor apartment, sitting at a table, drinking ale straight from a clay jug. His face was bruised, with the start of a black eye and blood trickling from the corner of his mouth from a cut lower lip. He also seemed to be favoring his left arm.

"Might be broken," he said as Jaime nodded to the arm as he sat.

"Who did this?"

"The blacksmith, Robert's bastard. This is his place. Big lad, he is. Punch is like a mule's kick. Never been hit that hard in my life, not even from my old man and he was a tough one. Out the window I went. Remind me to never fight a smith again, ever."

"The smith killed all your men?"

"It was her, Arya Stark. Robert's bastard was hiding her. She had a message for you and your sister. 'Starks pay their debts' or something like that. Also told me you'll find one more body, Ilyn…"

"Payne. We found his head on a spike on the walls."

"Bloody hell. She's been busy. She said his body would be on the rocks below the Red Keep."

But Jaime barely heard him as only now he noticed the pale thing on the table. "What's this?"

"A face…a girl's face. Found it on the floor."

Jaime stared at it. "Where did it come from?"

"I think the girl was wearing it. And there's only one bunch I know that wears other people's faces."

Jaime knew who he meant. "The Faceless Men. But she's a girl."

"Not anymore. She was wearing that face when she climbed through the window, stabbed one in the back of the neck, killed another by the door while me and the smith were fighting. And she killed two more out in the street, men I had put on lookout for her. Done neat and clean and they didn't even have their weapons out. Done it like she's been killing all her life."

"Maybe she has, to survive," Jaime said. "So, she was wearing the face."

"Aye…but when she talked to me down on the street she had taken it off."

Jaime stared at the face, wondering if he knew...but no, the memory was gone. "Why didn't they kill you?"

"Guess she wanted me to give you her message. Don't know why else."

Jaime stood and looked out the window. "She's taking revenge. Killing those that wronged her and her family." Then he had a thought. "Walder Frey killed her mother and brother."

"You think she did the old man in?"

"Maybe. The killer fed him his dead sons. Now that is a kind of revenge someone who was terribly wronged would seek. Someone whose brother and mother were murdered at a wedding."

"That was your father's doing as much as Walder Frey's."

"It was." Jaime knew what that meant. "We have to find her. This time I don't want her captured."

"No?"

"No. She is too much of a danger. She has had training, this girl. She knows her business now. She got in and out of the Red Keep, killed a man, pushed his body off the walls and put his head on a spike, and no one saw a damn thing. She may want to kill Cersei next. I will not take any chances. Tell the men to kill her and the smith on sight. A hundred gold to the one who brings me their heads."

"Reward like that will bring out all the cutthroats and scum of the city."

"Good. That way the girl and the smith will have no chance of causing any more harm or of leaving the city alive."

A maester arrived to look at Bronn and as he did so Jaime stared out the window across the city. One little girl wanted revenge for what his family had done to hers. How many more families were out there wanting the same? The Tyrells and the Martells for certain, preparing armies to attack them. And now the last Targaryen was coming home….and Jaime knew they were all doomed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Game of Thrones Season 7 Chapter 3**

 **King's Landing – Cersei**

Deep into the dungeons of the Red Keep she went, the Queen and her guards, four of them now, for two were resting, and Clegane was at his other duties. Tall and clad in gold they were, and all were healthy, virile, strong men who would die for her – but none could equal her brother, despite him being one handed. Jaime's anger and refusal to see her for more than small council meetings and the odd meal was eating away at her very soul. All her children were dead and now this too was almost more than Cersei could bear.

She was Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but it was a hollow title. Murder she had committed, more than once, to reach this peak of power, and for a brief moment it gave her more satisfaction than anything Jaime had ever done to her body. But soon the feeling passed, and she was confronted with the fact that her last child was dead, that no one believed the sept's destruction was an accident, and that enemies were sprouting like mushrooms after a rain. Hers would be a brief rule, she was starting to believe. There would be no miracle rescue like when Stannis had attacked.

The Lannister army was here already, awaiting their enemies, and so many were coming. Friends were few and weak. The Freys could send some men, their new lord wrote, but not enough to matter. The Riverlands were under her rule, but had few men left after the destructive wars, and such men hated her family and would be reluctant allies. Some men came from the Crownlands, more loyal men, but again few in number. As for the rest, they were in open rebellion.

A scream reverberated through the dungeons and Cersei had to smile, despite all her woes. Still alive, after all this time. She was tough.

"Wait," she said and her four Queensguards stopped in their tracks as Cersei approached the door and opened it.

Maegor the Cruel had built these torture chambers for his own pleasure more than anything else, or so the history books said. Dark and dank, but with many instruments of pain, and now one occupant, the Septa Unella. Cersei had promised her she would die screaming. She was still screaming but had not yet died.

Clegane was there, his helmet off, blood on his golden armor. He had her hanging from the ceiling, bound by the wrists, and she was naked. Perhaps once she had been a shapely woman, but now she was damaged goods. Burn marks and cuts covered her body. Her nipples had been cut off, one ear as well, the left one, and a few fingers and toes also. A foul smell greeted Cersei's nose, the smell of urine and shit and fear.

The septa had passed out from whatever Clegane had just done to her. "Wake her," Cersei commanded.

He picked up a bucket of water, looking more like an ale cup in his massive hands, and threw its contents on the woman. She jerked awake with a gasp, looked around and saw who was here.

"Have you come to watch me die?" the septa asked in a barely audible voice. "I am ready."

"Not yet," Cersei said. She took the object from her dress pocket and handed it to Clegane who looked at it with what Cersei thought may have been curiosity. "Have you ever heard of the Boltons?" Cersei asked the septa.

"The Boltons? No," came the weak reply.

"They once held Winterfell and the North in my son's name," Cersei said. "Traitors they turned out to be also. Now defeated, but that is another story. The point is of all the families in the North they were the most hated. Know why? No, I suppose not. Because they flayed the skin off their enemies. They even used a flayed man on a wooden cross as their sigil, though I suppose that will end if that boy Jon Snow has any sense. My father would have crushed them all underfoot and razed the Dreadfort by now. But no one is like my father was, or ever will be."

"Why are you…gods…no…mercy…I beg of you…please end it! ARGGGGGGG!"

Clegane had taken the meaning of her words and had not even waited for Cersei to leave. He took the paring knife she had given him and dug it into the flesh on Unella's upper left thigh. And then he yanked it down.

Red and raw came away the skin in a long strip and the woman's screams were unbelievably loud…and then she passed out.

"Enough for today," Cersei said to Clegane. "Once a day take some skin. Let us see how long she can last. Come."

He picked up his helmet and put it on and followed her out of the torture chamber. All five of her guards followed up to the upper levels of the Red Keep. As they reached the top flight of stairs Qyburn was waiting for her.

"And?" she asked as they continued to walk with Qyburn at her side.

"Still no word, Your Grace," he said.

"Four days it has been," Cersei said.

"We have men looking, and all the city knows we want her alive and those who find her will be rewarded. But she may have already found a way to flee the city."

"Perhaps. If so she would try to go to Winterfell. Have we sent patrols up the Kingsroad?"

"Not yet."

"Do so, today. Tell them to make sure she is not harmed."

"Lord Jaime thinks it is better to kill her and the smith on sight, Your Grace. He fears for your life."

"Arya Stark is more valuable as a hostage than a corpse. The smith can die for all I care. Just another reminder of my husband's infidelity."

"Yes, Your Grace, the orders will be given. But first." He pulled out a raven scroll. "News, Your Grace."

She stopped and took it and looked at the still visible sigil in the broken wax seal. "I do not know this house."

"Not of Westeros, Your Grace. A little bird of mine. From Lys."

She quickly read it and her blood began to boil. "Find my brother. And tell him to bring the sellsword. Now!"

An hour later and Jamie appeared with Bronn behind him in the small council chamber. Qyburn was seated at her right hand as always and her guards were around her. Jaime and Bronn were both wearing their weapons and her men stopped them. "My lord, ser," said one. "Your weapons."

Jaime gave a smirk as he undid his sword belt with his one good hand. His golden one had been replaced by one of steel, looking more like a gauntlet than a hand. Lighter and stronger, Jaime had said, but Cersei still preferred the golden one.

That quickly done, they came in and Cersei bid them to sit. "Tell them," she told Qyburn, for if she spoke the words she might just scream.

"Daenerys Targaryen and her fleet were spotted in Lys around seven days ago."

"Lys?" said Jaime. "Why did they stop there?"

"For supplies it appears," Qyburn explained. "All the earlier accounts are true. She has her dragons, quite large, and the Greyjoy siblings as her allies, plus the Reach and Dorne…and two more people, late of King's Landing. Lord Varys…and Tyrion Lannister."

"Tyrion…is with Daenerys Targaryen?" Jaime said in surprise and then he looked at Bronn who shrugged. "Told you so."

"Told him what?" Cersei asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion as she stared at Bronn.

"I said that Tyrion might end up with the Targaryen girl…Your Grace."

"Told him because you were guessing…or because you knew?" She had never trusted Bronn. Always he had been a creature of Tyrion. She should have had his head off when the Imp killed her father.

"Just a guess. I knew he'd get bored sitting around doing nothing," Bronn replied, as if they were talking about the weather.

Cersei continued to stare at him and Jaime laughed, a nervous laugh, and he knew what she was thinking. "Come now. Bronn is no more in cahoots with Tyrion than I am."

"You did let him go from that cell," Cersei said, seething now, her gazed fixed on Jaime. "So he could kill our father."

Now it was Jaime's turn to get mad. "If I had known he would do that I would have killed him in that cell. And let us not forget dear sister that it was you and father who backed him into a corner with your false accusations and lying witnesses."

"He killed Joffrey!"

"No," Jaime said. "I am convinced he did not. Someone did, maybe Sansa Stark, but she had help. Someone else pulled the strings, and is still out there, laughing at us, watching us tear our family to pieces."

They stared at each other, and finally Qyburn broke the silence. "My lord, my Queen… there is more."

"Yes," Cersei said. "Tell them the rest."

"Your brother is now heading to the North," Qyburn told Jaime. "They hired a fast Lyseni ship and only he of the Targaryen girl's party boarded it. Said to be heading to White Harbor."

Bronn picked up on what that meant right away. "The little shit's going to make a deal with the Starks."

"Yes," Cersei said. "The little shit is. One more enemy. Now can you see why I want Arya Stark alive?"

"She can't hide forever," Jaime said. "We'll find her."

"How?" Cersei countered. "She has eluded us, twice. She knows this city and no doubt has had help, and not just from the smith. She may have been hiding here for years."

Qyburn spoke up. "We now believe that is incorrect, Your Grace. We think she escaped from the city in a Night's Watch party soon after her father's execution. Dressed as a boy. For a time she was a prisoner of your father's army encamped at Harrenhal. From my inquires among the men who served in your father's command group at that time it actually seems a Northern girl fitting Arya Stark's description was your father's cup bearer."

"What?" Cersei said in disbelief. "He had the Stark girl serving him?"

"Quite so, Your Grace. No one knew who she was and your father had never met her before, so…"

"She fooled them all," said Jaime, almost as if he admired her.

"Then she escaped," Qyburn continued. "With King Robert's son…"

"Bastard," Cersei corrected him.

"Bastard, yes, my apologies. He was also a prisoner at Harrenhal, though no one knew who he truly was, for King Joffrey had commanded he be killed when found. They escaped, and then for a time it is uncertain where they were. The trail of the smith grows cold but not the girl. We have reports of Sandor Clegane killing five of his brother's men at an inn in the Riverlands. A young girl fitting Arya Stark's description was with him."

"Why would the Hound be with Arya Stark?" Jaime asked.

"The ransom," said Bronn. "I bet he was looking to sell her back to her family."

"Traitor," Cersei seethed. "If he is found I want him hung."

"Apparently he is dead, Your Grace," Qyburn said. "Or so my little birds have heard a rumor of his demise well over a year ago."

"Then where has Arya Stark been since then?" she asked.

"We believe she was in Braavos," said Jaime. "Training to be a Faceless Man...Woman in her case. As I told you several days ago. That is why I want her dead."

"And I told you it was ridiculous," Cersei countered. Jaime and Bronn were jumping at shadows, seeing a little girl as a highly trained assassin. They had gotten the best of the two of them, her and the smith, and Bronn still sported the bruises on his face, though he seemed otherwise unharmed despite falling from a window.

"It might not be so ridiculous, Your Grace," Qyburn said. "You recall Ser Meryn Trant was killed in a Braavosi house of ill repute?"

"Yes, what of it?" Cersei asked. Trant had been a stalwart at her side for years, and his death had come as a shock. But when she learned where he died, and his taste for little girls, and what he did to them, her opinions of the man soon changed.

"We believed he was murdered by a whore," Qyburn said. "Or maybe not."

"Not Arya Stark again?" Cersei asked in exasperation. "Your proof?"

"None, Your Grace. Except I have learned it was Trant who killed Arya Stark's sword master the day you took over power here after Robert's death and put Ned Stark in a cell."

"She's killing all those who wronged her," Jaime said next.

"Including maybe Walder Frey," Bronn added.

"Now you are being ridiculous, all of you," Cersei shouted.

"Walder Frey killed her mother and brother," Jaime said. "Ilyn Payne killed her father. Meryn Trant killed someone she knew. The gods only know how many more she has killed or wants to kill. Including you and me."

Even if they were right, Cersei still wanted her in a cell. "It matters not. I still want her alive. If Tyrion is on the Targaryen girl's side and gets the North to join her, Arya Stark would make a valuable hostage. Find her. Send fast patrols up the Kingsroad as well. If she has fled she will try to make it back to her home. Go."

Jaime and Bronn were dismissed and they got up, took their weapons, and left. She looked at Qyburn. "Do you have any little birds in the North?"

"Few, my Queen. I am sorry to say, but all of the North hates your family. I fear with Lord Varys nearing Westeros my little birds may become his again."

"Promise them more gold."

"It will be done, but some may not care. Varys had them for so very long, and even among our kind loyalties are hard to break."

"Then find more."

"I will do my best."

Cersei knew he would, for he was the only person left she could totally trust. His survival depended on hers. He had hitched his star to her wagon and if she went, so would he.

And then there was her little brother, who a witch woman said many years ago would be the one to kill her. "Tyrion," she said. "A ghost coming back to haunt us. If only there was some way to kill him before he got to Winterfell to pull the Starks to her side."

"I fear there is little chance of that, Your Grace. However, I have been working on a plan of sorts, a way to cause disruption in the North."

"Yes?"

"A letter, from you to Lord Baelish. Promising him forgiveness and all his old titles and positions plus new ones if he brings the knights of the Vale south to help defend you in your hour of need. But only if he and his men kill Jon Snow and Sansa Stark first."

Cersei's first instinct was to call him an idiot, for she would never forgive Baelish. But then she saw the wisdom of the plan. "Do you think Jon Snow reads every raven message that arrives in Winterfell?"

"If he is smart he would, Your Grace."

She smiled. "Write the letter. Now. I will sign and seal it and then we will see what fruit this will bear."

He excused himself to get quill and parchment. As he did so she thought on Tyrion, coming back to haunt her, and she hoped his ship sank and he was dragged into the cold ocean depths forever.

* * *

 **White Harbor – Tyrion**

The Lyseni ship slipped into White Harbor on a cold dreary afternoon, the rowers pulling hard at their oars, racing to get into the harbor before a storm that was brewing to the west arrived. Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the Queen, stood on deck near the captain, trying to control his desire to retch up his lunch as waves buffeted the ship.

"Have you ever been to White Harbor, my lord?" the captain asked, his command of the Common Tongue only having the slightest of accents. Like all Lyseni he had blond silvery hair and was quite possibly the handsomest sailor Tyrion had ever laid eyes on. The sea attracted all kinds, but those the gods blessed with good looks and temperaments were few in his experience.

"No, I can't say I have," Tyrion replied. "Not exactly on a list of places to visit on a tour of the Seven Kingdoms."

"The largest city in the North," the captain said. "The richest as well. Plenty of ships stop here to trade."

"So I have heard. It is famed for its silversmiths. And the prodigious appetite of its lord."

"Lord Wyman Manderly is a large man with large appetites, no doubt," said the captain. Then his mood grew more serious. "Be cautious, my lord. Your family is not loved here."

"No need to tell me that. Lannisters are hated the world over."

"If you have trouble, I and my men cannot get involved. Bad for business, you understand."

"Of course, my good man. Not to worry. I shall be fine." I hope, he thought, but did not say so.

The captain was soon busy as they began to move into an empty berth at the docks. A short time later they were tied up and Tyrion gave his thanks and goodbyes to the captain and crew. It hadn't been a long trip, about ten days since he had left Lys, and aside from a few rough days, the trip had been uneventful. The infamous Step Stones were passed by without even seeing another ship. He spent his days reading some books and thinking on how to deal with the Starks. And drinking of course. The Lyseni made a nice amber colored wine, which Tyrion found to his liking.

Tyrion climbed onto the dock with his luggage bag in hand as two officious looking men arrived, customs officers no doubt. One started to talk to the Lyseni captain while the other was looking over the ship from the dock. Tyrion wrapped his cloak tighter around his small body. Ned Stark was right. Winter had come, to the North at least. Snow was on the ground and a cold wind was blowing down the cobblestone streets, and judging by the clouds to the west more snow was coming. He looked up and saw a large white castle dominating the town made of stone buildings with slate roofs. Ships seemed to be everywhere, and the docks were busy with many people moving and loading ships…with soldiers as well, all wearing the merman sigil of the Manderlys. Something was afoot.

"What can I do for…you?" one of the customs men asked with a pleasant smile on his face which now fell. He was staring at Tyrion. "Good gods."

"Yes, it's me. The Imp, Tyrion Lannister of Casterly Rock. I wish to have words with Lord Wyman Manderly."

"He is not in the city."

"Then whoever is in charge, my good man. I am representing Queen Daenerys Targaryen."

The man hurried off to where some soldiers were and shortly returned with several men, including one who seemed to be in charge, a large man, more fat than muscle, who sported a drooping mustache. His eyes turned hard when he looked at Tyrion.

"A Lannister in White Harbor," he said with evident glee. "Now I shall have some measure of revenge."

"My good man, I am a representative of Queen Daenerys Targaryen. I have the appropriate…"

"Seize him! To the dungeons!"

Hands grabbed him roughly, his bag and the small dagger at his side were taken away, and Tyrion was gagged and trussed up before he could hardly say another word. Up the streets they took him, then up many steps, into the castle, and down many stairs, carried the whole time, leaving his dignity in tatters, as many saw the spectacle and more than a few laughed at the dwarf being carried like a barrel of ale. Finally they arrived at a nice cold dark cell. They removed the gag and bindings and shoved him to the floor by a smelly latrine bucket.

He stood, feeling the blood come back into his small hands. "Ah, the fabled hospitality of the North," he quipped as he looked around his new quarters. He looked through the bars of his cell at two men who remained behind to guard him in a torch lit corridor. "If I may have a word with your lord, my good fellows, all will be explained."

"Shut up, Imp," said one guard.

The other chuckled. "Think they'll hang him or just drop him off a cliff?"

"If it was me I'd draw and quarter him."

"I am not your enemy," Tyrion said.

"No?" asked the big man with the drooping mustache as he appeared and came closer to the cell. The two guards he dismissed. In his hands he had Tyrion's letter to be ambassador, opened, the seal broken.

"We have not had the pleasure," Tyrion said. "You know who I am it seems. And you, my lord?"

"Ser Wylis Manderly, heir to White Harbor. Once a prisoner of your father, at Harrenhal."

"Ah, I see why you hate me so."

"It was war, I was captured, so be it," said Ser Wylis. "My father ransomed me from your father for my weight in silver…and later paid another ransom for my younger brother Wendel's bones."

"Oh, dear. Killed on the field, was he?"

"No, at the Red Wedding. Freys might have drawn the blood, but everyone knows your father gave the command."

"As to that, I was not privy to such plans until they were done. And you may have heard my father is dead, killed by my own hand."

"We have heard. Your father was an evil man and many would agree they are glad he is dead. But to kill your own father…the kinslayer is cursed in the eyes of gods and men."

"If Tywin Lannister was your father you would have killed him as well. Look, my good fellow, we could talk on family history forever, but I have urgent business in Winterfell. You have my letter, so you know what I am doing here."

Ser Wylis held up the letter. "I could burn it, and let you rot here, like I did for months in Harrenhal."

"Have you heard of Daenerys Targaryen?"

"The Mad King's daughter. She's on the far side of the world."

"Not anymore. She's in Lys, with her dragons and a hundred and more ships with an army on board, already sailing for Westeros by now. She has an alliance with the Reach and Dorne to rid the Seven Kingdoms of my sister. Ask the crew of that ship if you don't believe me."

A troubled look came to Ser Wylis eyes. "I will," he said and then he was gone and the guards came back.

How long he waited he did not know, but the guards changed shifts, and the time dragged on. Torches provided the only light so he knew not if it was still day or night. A fine fish soup and some ale were brought for him to eat and drink, and after a few sips he surmised it was not poisoned so he enjoyed it.

After the meal he lay down on the floor for a bit and must have drifted off. The sound of the cell door opening awoke him. Ser Wylis stood there, beckoning him to rise. "Come," he said.

Tyrion did not wait for a second invitation and despite the cramps in his legs and his bladder which seemed about to burst he strode out the door and followed Ser Wylis. There were no guards now and Ser Wylis held a lantern.

"Where are we going?"

"Keep quiet and we will get there faster."

Up they went, three flights of stairs and now they were in the main part of the castle and Tyrion knew it was night outside. Down a corridor, and then up two more flights of stairs and his legs were killing him. Finally, Ser Wylis stopped outside a door where two guards were standing.

"A lord's prison?" Tyrion ventured.

"Aye. You may thank my lady wife for it. She said we must treat you more…gently, despite your name. You will be confined to these quarters."

"For how long? I must get to Winterfell."

"A bird has flown. You will stay here until I hear back from Lady Sansa as to what to do with her husband."

"Lady Sansa is in Winterfell?" Tyrion asked, ignoring the barb.

"She is."

"And Jon Snow?"

"Gone to Castle Black, with my father and ten thousand more and his wildling allies."

"Castle Black? Why Castle Black?"

"Seems you don't know everything…my lord. The White Walkers have risen, them and thousands of their wights, and all the North is going to defend the Wall."

"The White Walkers?" Tyrion said in surprise. "But…aren't they a myth?"

"Aye, once. Not anymore."

Three days he waited, comfortably, but going a bit mad despite being treated well. Fine food and drink they provided, a soft bed, hot water for his baths, and plenty of books to read. Lord Wylis did not come back, and his serving girls could tell him nothing of importance, about events at the Wall or Winterfell or anywhere. His guards refused to talk to him at all.

On the morning of the fourth day Ser Wylis finally returned. "Pack your bag, ambassador. The Lady of Winterfell requests your presence."

* * *

 **Moat Cailin – Brienne**

Though he did not know it yet, Tyrion was not the only one heading to Winterfell. The trip from the Riverlands up the Neck to Moat Cailin had been long and tiresome, but they had made it with little to distract them. Lord Beric's band consisted of fewer than thirty men, less than Brienne had thought considering all the damage they had done. A few more Frey bannermen they found and hung, including one who told them the Freys were gathering all their banners to ride south to King's Landing. When they asked why he told them of the events that had gone on in King's Landing weeks past while they were on the road and hiding and out of touch. The Sept of Baelor destroyed, the Tyrell family killed, and King Tommen dead as well with his mother on the Iron Throne. The Reach and Dorne had declared war on the new Queen and were marching on King's Landing.

"Now they are truly fucked," Clegane said when he heard this. "That bitch will destroy everything before she surrenders to the Tyrells and Dornish."

"Not our concern anymore," said Dondarrion. "The true war lies in the North."

"They are all riding the wrong way," Thoros said before they hung the screaming man who was pleading for his life, claiming he had not been at the Red Wedding. No one cared. He served the Freys and so he must die.

Moat Cailin stood like an island in a sea of snow and ice. The last time Brienne and Pod had been this way it was all mud and water. They had to go around it, both times, heading north and south again, losing days, for the Boltons had held the fort. Now one of Dondarrion's men with sharp eyes told them the good news.

"Direwolf banners fly over the fort," he said. "And falcons."

"The Vale," said Brienne.

On they rode, through the flotsam of war. As they neared the fort rotting dead bodies lay everywhere half covered in snow and ice. Most wore the flayed man sigil of the Dreadfort, while some sported Greyjoy krakens.

"You'd think they would have buried the dead," said Thoros.

"Better to burn them," Pod said.

The Hound turned and glared at him. "You so eager to burn men, are you?"

"No, ser, I…"

"I'm no ser, or lord."

Brienne spoke up. "He means nothing by it, Clegane. When we were at Castle Black Jon Snow told us they burned the dead, so they don't come back as wights."

"Then these men should be burned as well," Dondarrion said. "Let us see who commands the fort."

At the gates men shouted down from the walls to them to halt. "What business do you lot have being here?" someone shouted.

"The Lord of Light's business," Thoros shouted back and Brienne groaned. No one here would love the Lord of Light. Thoros spoke on. "We are on our way to the Wall to fight the great enemy."

One of the men laughed. "Bugger the Lord of Light. When you pray to him, tell him we have one of his red whores in our dungeon."

"What's this?" Dondarrion shouted. "You hold a red priestess prisoner?"

Then someone older spoke, a more knightly looking man, with the sigil of a broken black wheel on a green field on his surcoat. "State your names," he commanded.

"Lord Beric Dondarrion, and his Brotherhood Without Banners. Our companions are Lady Brienne of Tarth, sworn sword to Lady Sansa Stark, and her squire Podrick Payne."

"Lady Brienne," the knight said, his mood darkening. "I know you and your squire killed some of our men near a crossroad's inn nearly a year ago."

"Men who attacked us first," Brienne shouted back. "I see the direwolf banner. You hold the fort for the Starks. This is the North. I serve Lady Sansa. Let us enter and pass on or you will answer to her and her brother, who I believe is now King in the North."

The man stared at her and then disappeared. A short time later the gates opened and they rode in. The inner courtyard was full of men, and not one sigil of the North did she see, all men of the Vale. All were looking at them warily. The knight who spoke was there as well. Brienne climbed down from her horse and the others did as well.

"I am Ser Morton Waynwood," the knight said. He was tall, though not near as tall as Brienne or Clegane, and his face was covered in a short brown beard. "The hospitality of Moat Cailin is yours, at least as little as this dreary place has."

"Thank you, Ser Morton," Dondarrion said. "We will stay but a night, and would appreciate any supplies you could spare."

"Not a worry, supplies we have," Ser Morton replied but then his eyes narrowed. "Is that the Hound, Sandor Clegane?"

"Aye, it's me," Clegane answered, his tone a challenge, as if daring them to do something.

"He rides with us now," Thoros said. "All his past crimes are forgiven for he serves the people in their quest for justice."

Ser Morton did not looked convinced but nodded once. "So be it."

"What's this about a red priestess in your dungeons, Ser Morton?" Dondarrion asked him

Ser Morton looked uneasy. "She arrived a week ago, from Winterfell, she claimed. I gave her food and drink, a room to stay in. But that night she convinced some of my men to build a great fire, and she began to preach about the Lord of Light. By morning almost half the garrison was ready to follow her wherever she went. When two men fought and one died, arguing over the gods, I hung the other and clapped her in irons and threw her in a cell."

"It's Melisandre," Brienne said, wondering why she was not at Winterfell.

"You know her?" Ser Morton asked.

"We do," said Thoros. "I would be grateful if I could speak to her."

Ser Morton looked in suspicion at his faded red robes. "You said you served the Lord of Light. I will have no more trouble here over the gods."

"What will you do with her?" Dondarrion asked.

"I have sent a raven to Winterfell. It is for the Starks to decide, these are their lands."

"Let me speak to her," Thoros said. "I promise, no treachery."

Ser Morton grunted. "You may speak to her. And if there is any treachery I will have all your heads on spikes."

He shouted commands to his men to show them the stables and prepare food and drink, and then Ser Morton took Thoros with him.

"Who is this Melisandre?" Clegane asked as a stable boy showed them the way to the stables.

"A red priestess of the Lord of Light," Brienne told him. "Served Stannis. She was the one who made the demon shadow that killed Renly, I am sure of it."

"Demon shadow," Clegane said in a scoffing manner. "I heard it was you that killed Renly."

She grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, his scarred face full of anger. "Not me," she snarled, angry as well. "It was a shadow that looked like Stannis."

"So you say," Clegane spat at her. "Now get your bloody hand off me or we will finish what we started right now."

She took her hand away and then they were in the stables, removing the saddles from their horses. "Don't matter how Renly died," Clegane said as he put his saddle on a bench. "He's dead, so be it. The little bugger should never have called himself king. Should have joined Stannis and fucked the Lannisters bloody."

"I thought you served the Lannisters?" Brienne asked in disbelief at his words.

"Served, but I never liked it," he growled back. "Joffrey was a shit, Cersei a whore who fucked her brother, who…"

"I don't need a family history," she said, angrier than she intended at the mention of Jaime fucking Cersei. Her feelings for Ser Jaime were hidden deep down, for she knew nothing would come of them, and now Clegane was dredging them up again.

Clegane laughed, as if he knew she had feelings for Ser Jaime. "Thoros told me a story about you and Ser Jaime. Said they captured one of Bolton's men when he held Harrenhal, and he squealed before he died. Said you freed Ser Jaime from the Starks, tried to get him to King's Landing, and then you both got caught. He lost a hand and you had to be rescued by Ser Jaime before a bear ate you."

"It's true, mostly," she said as she put her saddle on the bench next to his. "But it was Lady Catelyn who freed him, not me. Which is why Ser Jaime wanted me to find Sansa and Arya. He made a promise to Lady Catelyn to find them for his freedom."

"Ser Jaime's promises don't mean shit," Clegane said as he took a brush and began to brush down the flanks of his horse. "He promised to protect Aerys and killed him."

"You don't know the whole story. Ser Jaime saved the city. Aerys was going to burn it all with wildfire he had hidden all over the city."

"Found some, we did," said Pod from nearby. "Lord Tyrion used it to burn Stannis' fleet at the Blackwater. You were there."

"Aye, I was there," Clegane said, now quieter, and she saw his face had blanched at the mention of the Blackwater and wildfire. She stared at him, knowing he ran from the battle at its height.

"What happened there?"

He stopped brushing his horse's flanks. "You ever been in battle, woman? I mean a real battle?"

"No," she admitted. She had seen the Boltons crush Stannis' army, but had taken no part in it.

"Then you will never understand."

"I know what blood and pain is," Brienne said.

"You don't know what fire does."

"No, I don't." Then she had to said it. "The Starks will more than likely hate you."

"Did you tell Sansa and Snow I kidnapped Arya or some other such foolishness?"

"No. I never mentioned your name to them. They'll still hate you for serving the Lannisters."

"Could be."

"Not the lady," said Podrick, surprising her.

"Why not?" Brienne asked.

"He saved her, from the rapists, during the riot at King's Landing."

She turned back to Clegane, but he was gone, striding across the courtyard to where a man was shouting food was served.

They sat in a small mess hall and ate some food, a good beef soup, with brown bread and fine ale. The fort was full of supplies, she saw, and most of it was going north to Winterfell and maybe the Wall. The North and the Vale were marching on the Wall and Dondarrion said they would as well after stopping in Winterfell.

Thoros came in and sat with them. "Well?" asked Dondarrion.

"It's her all right," the red priest replied. "Ser Morton seems to have stretched the truth a bit. She lit a fire and said a prayer, but only a few men seemed to want to know more about our Lord. Some others who follow the Seven argued with them, two drew blades and one died."

"Why is she not in Winterfell?" Brienne asked.

"Said she Jon Snow banished her from the North. Wouldn't tell me why."

"Then she must go," Brienne said immediately. "This is still the North." She stood. "I will tell Ser Morton." But Thoros stopped her.

"She wants words with you, my lady."

"Me?" Brienne said in surprise. "Did you tell her I was here?"

"No…she already knew."

The cells were in a lower level, and were cold and dank, with a few inches of water on the floor. She found Melisandre sitting on a narrow bench built into the wall of her cell, with iron fetters on her wrists. She looked no worse the wear for her predicament, and as Brienne entered the cell she could feel the heat coming off the red woman's body.

"They told me snakes inhabit these cells during summer," Melisandre said. Brienne instinctively looked at the wet floor. "But I have yet to see one. I am sure they are all underground, now that winter has come."

"You asked to speak with me."

"I did, Lady Brienne. I know you have no love for me."

"You killed Renly."

"Renly Baratheon warred with his brother, the rightful king of Westeros. Even you cannot deny Stannis had the better claim as the elder brother."

"Maybe, but Renly would have made the better king."

"That is all behind us now. We have a new king, Jon Snow. I will serve him as I need someone to serve as much as you do. In that we are alike."

Brienne's anger burned hot. "I am nothing like you!"

"No, you are not. You are gallant and virtuous and would be a knight if a woman was allowed such a title. You were born of a noble family and had all handed to you…all except the gentle appearance a woman should have. The body and strength of a man you have, but you are not a man."

"If all you asked me here for was to insult me I shall be leaving."

"No, I do not mean to insult you. I am merely stating the truth. My truth is a little different. Nothing I was born with, but much I have accomplished. But my journey is not over yet. I need your help, Lady Brienne, to make the next step, if I am to serve my King and all of Westeros."

"Why should I help you?"

"Because in the end Jon Snow will need me. He banished me, but when the Wall falls and the Walkers and wights charge through the breech, he will need me at his side."

"When the Wall…falls? The Wall has stood for thousands of years."

"It will fall, I have seen it in the flames. The wolf boy with a thousand eyes is there now and he is the Wall's doom."

"Make sense or I will leave."

"Brandon Stark will cause the Wall to collapse. How I know not. But I have seen it. And you know what power I have. You have seen it at work."

"How do I know you are not plotting some treachery?"

She laughed and Brienne felt the burning anger again and her hand went to Oathkeeper's hilt. "I saved Jon Snow's life," Melisandre said. "Why would I plot against him?"

"Why did he banish you?"

Now her face grew disquiet. "I committed an act which he found reprehensible."

"Tell me it all or I will not help you."

She hesitated and then spoke. "Stannis' army was stuck in the snows. We were dying, and had no hope. The Lord of Light told me to make a sacrifice…of king's blood."

"Of…king's blood? What did you do?"

"We burnt Stannis' daughter…Shireen…at the stake."

Brienne's mind reeled at the words and what they meant. "You should die!"

"I should, and I am ready. But the Lord of Light is not done with me yet. You will not be the instrument of my death. You know I speak the truth, that I will be needed at the Wall, to save the realm's men from the demons that come."

Brienne was ready to pull out Oathkeeper and cut her heart out, and had many reasons to do so…but hesitated. She had seen the red woman's power, knew what she was capable of.

"What will happen at the Wall?"

"I will die."

That took Brienne aback. "You…but you said you would save the realms of men."

"I will…for a time. It will be my sacrifice that saves them long enough to get away from the Wall. But if I am not there they will be overwhelmed and crushed."

"I cannot go against Jon Snow's commands."

"Then we are all doomed. Only you have the power to convince these men to release me. Only you have the power to convince Sansa Stark to allow me to return to where I am needed, to protect me. Ser Davos has promised to kill me on sight. I will die before I reach the Wall. If that happens the White Walkers will overrun all Westeros…and maybe the world."

"I…I need to think."

"Do not wait too long. Time is running out."

She found Dondarrion and Thoros and took them aside and explained all the red woman had said.

"We cannot ignore this," Dondarrion said. "The Lord of Light is the one true god, my lady."

Thoros spoke next. "He speaks through Melisandre. She brought Jon Snow back to life because he will lead us. And she needs to be there at his side when the Wall falls. You must talk to Ser Morton."

"What will I say?"

"Tell him you serve Lady Sansa," Dondarrion said. "You will take the prisoner back to Winterfell to face her justice for causing dissension here in his ranks. He will be glad to be rid of her, away from his men."

And so it was. They left Moat Cailin the next morning, with Melisandre with shackles on her wrists as she rode her horse, and many supply wagons also heading to Winterfell. Before they left they also warned Ser Morton to burn the dead that lay near the fort, and he agreed to do so.

As they rode north, Clegane came to Brienne's side, the two riding a bit ahead of the rest.

"Why didn't you kill her if you loved Renly so much?" he asked in a low voice.

"I might yet."

"Good. Just warn me first so I can watch your back."

Nothing could have surprised her more. "Watch my back?"

"Aye. You think Thoros and the rest will do nothing while you kill her?"

"I thought they were your friends."

He snorted and spoke in a lower voice. "I have no friends, not here anyway. This lot tried to kill me once. Stole my gold as well. I ride with them because they have food and fire and it is better than riding alone. And if you think I like anyone who worships a fire god, then you know nothing."

Now it was her turn to snort. "You're riding with them because you are not the evil man everyone thinks you are. You're going to the North to fight the Walkers because it is the right thing to do."

He shrugged. "Maybe so." They rode in silence for a while. Then he spoke again. "I did kidnap Arya, from this bunch. They were going to ransom her. So was I. Then came the Red Wedding, and then her aunt died."

"What were you going to do when we found you and Arya?"

"Don't know. I had a ransom on my own head by then. We were just going day to day. Maybe would have tried to get her to Castle Black, to her brother."

"You could have abandoned her."

"Aye…but I didn't. Now I don't know where she is. No one does."

* * *

 **The Kingsroad – Arya**

Arya and Gendry had just reached the area near the Mud Gate and had gone through, moving outside the walls of the city when behind them it was closed shut for the night. They hadn't been sure if the guards were on alert for them yet, so they slowed down, and caught their breath. Arya said they should wait more, but Gendry worried the gates would soon close for the night, and so they had to move. For once some luck was with them for as they approached a group of men and women were moving around near the gate, some pulling carts inside, and from the smell of them Arya knew they were the fish mongers who plied their trade inside and outside the Mud Gate. They joined the milling throng who were closing up their shops and carts for the night, and so just walked right up to and out the gate, and no one said a word.

Fear gave speed to their legs and they moved as fast as they could, past the now closed fish mongers stands, and the many warehouses, granaries, and wharves that were built in a jumble along the Blackwater

"The Kingsroad," Arya said. "We must make the Kingsroad."

"Won't they be looking for us there?"

"Hopefully not yet. We can make a few miles before dawn anyway."

For hours they moved west and then north, past the city walls, then paralleling the Kingsroad across farmer's fields. Luckily the moon was near full and gave good light. A stream they passed over, and they drank their full of its cold water and then moved on. Finally they were too exhausted to move anymore, found a nice hedge to hide behind, and rested and wrapped Arya's bedroll around their legs.

"On the road again," said Gendry. "Running from the Lannisters and gold cloaks."

"Yes, but this time it is little different." She snuggled up to him and he wrapped his big right arm around her shoulders and she felt safe and wanted.

"Where will we go?" he finally asked.

"Winterfell," Arya said without hesitation.

"I thought the Boltons held Winterfell."

"Not anymore. I heard today that my brother Jon led an army and took it back. Ramsey Bolton is dead." She had been moving through the streets when she walked by some gold cloaks who were drinking at an outside table at a wine sink, and one of them had said, "We are truly fucked. Tyrells and Dornish in the south, Starks back in Winterfell, and no friends anywhere."

She went on up the street, hardly believing it, and stopped at a large open air market street, and after a question here and there, while pretending to look at food and wares, she got most of the story. One woman said Jon turned into a white wolf and led a force of snow demons and took back the castle. Another said it was the wildlings who were his allies, and they hung the Boltons guts in the trees after they killed them. Finally an old man told her the most believable story, that Jon led the wildlings and some Northmen against the Boltons, and the knights of the Vale arrived in the nick of time to save the day.

It didn't matter how it was done, to Arya it meant only one thing, Winterfell was her family's once more. "It is time I went home," she said to Gendry. "And you are coming with me."

"To be a smith, for your brother and sister?" he asked, and she felt the old wound open up.

She sat up and looked at him in the moonlight and kissed him once, gently. "No," she said. "To be by my side…to be…to be my man. If you want."

"I want," he replied and they kissed deeply and then they just held each other and soon after sleep came to them.

The next morning they ate a little of the food he had and began to walk, trying to keep near the Kingsroad but not on it. Arya had her two daggers and Needle, so she gave one dagger to Gendry and she kept Needle hidden in her bedroll, but not too tightly wrapped, in case they needed it. There were no crops in the fields, with winter almost here, and the cold night air had made them shiver. Gendry had brought a cloak and gallantly let her wear it, to keep her warm and to cover up the dark blood stains on her clothes as well.

As they walked they now talked on what had happened yesterday. "Tell me how they found you," Arya said. As he explained Arya could not believe they knew so much in such a short time. Bad luck again.

"You had a busy day as well," he said when he was done. "I asked you to stay in."

"I'm sorry. I couldn't. I had to kill Payne. He killed my father."

He sighed. "I know. I think I would have done the same. But a boar killed my father."

Then he remembered something. "Arya…why did you look different?"

"To hide who I was in case I ran into Jaime again."

"But, that face…who was it? Not someone you killed?"

"Yes, but she was dying when I found her." She quickly explained what had happened to the girl. "In The House of Black and White there were hundreds of such faces. They use them when they plan to kill someone. I learned how to cut them off and how to put them on my face."

"Was it easy? Finding and killing Payne?"

"Finding him was not hard but I had to wait for the chance most of the day. Killing him was easy." And satisfying.

First she had wanted to kill Cersei, but she knew Payne deserved to die more than Cersei did. And he might be easier to find and kill. She got in and out of the Red Keep the same way she had gotten out years ago, when she got lost chasing cats. The tunnel came out near the Blackwater. Now it was covered over with vegetation and a gate, but it was not locked.

She was lost for a bit, but when she found the dragon skulls she knew where she was. She walked to the upper levels, and found out where his quarters were, claiming to be a new servant for Ser Ilyn. The girl she stopped and asked looked at her oddly, and Arya knew it was her clothes, breeches and coat, but then she told Arya where he lived. She knocked on his door and no one answered. His door was unlocked but he was not there. So she waited there, a small, smelly room with a small bed and a small window, looking over the sea, the only light from the window.

Payne came back in the late afternoon. He entered and as he was removing his sword belt in an instant she grabbed him from behind and the dagger bit deep along his throat as she whispered in his ear, "Ned Stark has his revenge."

He gasped once, twice, and flopped to the floor, making a gargling noise, and then he bled out, his hands at his throat, trying in vain to stop the red flow. She knew he wouldn't call for help. He had no tongue.

As she watched him die she knew what she had to do next. She cut the head off, like he had cut off her father's, and justice was served. She thought to leave the body there, but someone might find it before she could continue her plan…to kill Cersei next. Out the window, and into the sea, that's where he would go. She lifted his body up and stuffed him through the small window and down he fell. He was heavy but she was no stranger to moving bodies. The fall was not far, as he had a lower room, but the body hit the rocks and stayed there and did not go into the sea like she had wanted. Oh, well. She was about to throw the head out as well, but then thought…no…I have a better idea. It would mean giving up her hunt for Cersei, but perhaps Gendry had been right. Perhaps she would never get close to her, never have the chance, and would die trying. In the past maybe she would not have cared. But now…now she had something to hold onto, something to care about…him.

That morning she thought he was going to say he loved her and she had been shocked to her core and when he did not say it she was both relieved…and disappointed. Relieved because she did not want to brooch the subject yet, and disappointed because no boy had ever said those words to her, and she was starting to feel the same for him.

The head she wrapped in his bedding and carried to the walls as if it was a load of laundry in her arms. People passed her, guards and servants, but no one said a word. She found the perfect spot, low, with no guards close by, and with the shadow of the Red Keep putting it mostly into darkness as the sun was moving toward the western horizon. There she put his head on a spike, for all to see, like the Hound told her they had put her father's head after he had died and Joffrey made Sansa look at it. She only wished she could have be there to see Joffrey choke to death.

All day they walked, sometimes on the Kingsroad, sometimes not. When people and wagons and horses came from the north they stayed on the road, but were cautious about those coming from the south. A few times they dashed off the road when they saw or heard horses coming from the south, but it was never Lannisters looking for them. A few people heading south talked to them, mostly asking how much farther it was to the city. When someone got a little nosy Arya lied, telling them she and her brother were going Darry, to serve the lords there. Arya knew Castle Darry, for that was where she had stayed when she had thrown Joffrey's sword in the Trident and Nymeria had bit him. And where the Hound had killed Mycah.

For nine days they moved this way, but it was slow going, having to hide often, not knowing if someone was coming up the Kingsroad for them. Arya guessed they were halfway to Harrenhal by now, maybe closer. They stayed in barns sometimes, and twice they got rides on wagons, but the going was slow. Their food ran out and they had to buy more, but few were willing to sell. "Don't you know winter is coming?" one gruff old farmer said to them.

"My father always told me," she said, and after she pleaded with him his tough demeanor cracked a bit and he sold them a loaf of bread and some apples.

The next day they woke up behind a roadside hedge, stiff with the cold and covered in a layer of snow. The land all around them was white. "We have to have better shelter," Gendry said as they shook off the snow. She could not have agreed more. An inn they needed, just for one night, to have a proper rest, to get clean and to find out any news if they could.

Later that afternoon they found a roadside inn and they took a room for two silver stags for the night. The innkeeper was a heavy set man, not tall or short, with a greying black beard and beady eyes. He looked at them in suspicion, for they were ragged looking, dirty, and stiff with the cold, but when they told him their tale of being brother and sister heading to Darry he gave them a room and took their money.

That night they ate well in the common room, hot pork stew and warm bread, with a good ale. There were a few other travelers, but no Lannister men or gold cloaks. The talk was mostly of the coming war, and how they were sick of war and wanted nothing to do with it. Most agreed that the Lannisters would lose, but they said it in whispers, and eyed Arya and Gendry, who were strangers in these parts.

"How far is it to Darry?" Arya asked the innkeeper as he passed by.

"Four or five days," he said. "By horse."

"Gods," Gendry said in a low voice. "We'll never get to Winterfell."

After they ate they had a hot bath in the inn's bathhouse and did their best to clean their clothing with some soap they bought for a copper. Gendry had brought some extra clothes but she had nothing but what she wore and his clothing was too big for her. As they crawled into bed Arya and Gendry were both exhausted, and, worried on what the innkeeper would think if he heard a brother and sister making love, they just held each other and drifted off to sleep.

In the morning they dressed, their clothes mostly dry now. Gendry had a worried look on his face. "We need a horse."

"Yes. But if we steal one we'll have more people after us."

"How much money do we have?"

They counted the coins they had, emptying their coin sacks on the bed. "One gold piece, ten silvers, and thirty eight coppers," Gendry said.

Arya held up the gold piece, which she had carried since the Twins. "This could buy a horse."

"Could be. Let me ask the innkeeper after we eat. I know horses. Shoed enough of them at Harrenhal."

Arya agreed and they went downstairs. They sat in the now empty common room and ate some buttered bread with honey and drank warm goat's milk. After he had enough Gendry went off to talk to the innkeeper. She kept her eye on him and then the two went outside, most likely to the stables.

She finished eating and then the innkeeper came back. "Your brother wants to see you outside," he said.

"Will you sell us a horse?"

"What? Oh, yes…he wants to show you the horse."

Arya knew he was lying, having played the game of faces enough in Braavos. She smelled fear on him and in a second had her dagger out and at his throat. "Where is Gendry…my brother?"

The innkeeper gulped. "Outside…some men have him."

"How many?"

"Five."

"Who?"

"Don't know."

"Describe them."

"Four wearing Lannister armor, fifth one all in black.'

Now she knew. Bronn. She should have killed him.

Then came a shout. "Come on out little lady!"

"Stay here if you don't want to get hurt," she said to the innkeeper. She reached down to her bedroll that was on the bench at her table and quickly got Needle out. As she went to the door she shifted Needle to her left hand and held the dagger in the right.

Outside in the inn courtyard in the snow stood the four Lannister men in a row with Gendry in the middle. Two had their swords on Gendry and two more had their swords out flanking them. Bronn stood in the center in front of them. He did not have his sword out. Five horses were hitched to a hitching post to the left.

 _Today is not the day I die_ , she said to herself. _There is only one god, the god of death, and we say to him, not today._ "Let him go and I will let you all live," she said in a calm voice.

The Lannister men laughed. Bronn did not. "We don't want him," Bronn said. "But the Queen does want you, my lady. Surrender, come back to King's Landing with us, and the lad can go where he wishes."

"I don't believe you. And don't call me a lady."

"What? Should it be 'princess' then?" one Lannister man asked.

"Why not?" said another. "Her brother is calling himself king, ain't he?"

"He'll be dead soon enough like her other brother who said he was a king," said a third.

Arya said nothing, thinking on how to kill them, when Bronn sighed, spat, and spoke again. She thought she heard him say 'fuck it' in a low voice but wasn't sure. Then he spoke in a louder tone. "I never met your brothers, but your sister I know well enough. I served Lord Tyrion when she was his wife."

"She never wanted to marry him I bet."

"Aye, and he never wanted to marry her. Then they blamed him and her for killing Joffrey."

"I'm glad they did it. He deserved to die."

"He was a little shit, no doubt. But the thing is I think they never did it. Cersei and her father blamed Tyrion cause they hated him. So he killed his father and ran away."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Cause Tyrion is back, and he is a friend of Daenerys Targaryen. Heard of her?"

Arya had. "The Mad King's daughter."

"Aye. She has three bloody big dragons and all the Reach and Dorne behind her. And she is coming home. She sent Tyrion to the North to win your brother and sister's allegiance."

Behind him his men were looking uneasy, wondering why he was talking on this as well.

"I…I didn't know any of that," Arya said.

"Few people do. I was always fond of the little bugger, Tyrion. Friends we are, you could say."

"I don't care. Let him go!" Arya demanded as she tried to keep a clear head for what she had to do. He was trying to distract her, confuse her.

"So," Bronn continued, ignoring her request. "Before we begin, I just wanted you to know where things stand. And I also want your word."

"What word?"

"That you won't kill me when I am done killing them."

And hardly was the last word out of his mouth when he had his sword and fighting knife out and he was attacking his own men. He killed the two with their swords on Gendry first, stabbing one where the shoulder armor and chest armor had a gap with his sword in his right hand and slashing the throat of the other with the fighting knife in his left hand. Both men screamed and fell to the ground. The other two cursed and attacked Bronn.

Arya was frozen by the sudden and unexpected turn of events but quickly got her wits back. "Gendry, lookout!" she yelled as she threw her dagger in her right hand at the man on his left as Bronn was fighting the one on the right. Her aim was good, but the dagger hit armor. Yet it was enough to distract him and he came for her.

"Bitch!" he snarled and he hadn't gotten two steps when a meaty arm clasped around his neck and Gendry gave a good twist and snapped the man's neck and his eyes rolled back and he fell to the ground dead.

Bronn meanwhile had killed the fourth Lannister man. "Fuck, that felt good," he said as he wiped the blood from his sword. He looked at the man with the broken neck. "Never fight smiths," he said.

"What do you want?" Arya asked Bronn as Gendry picked up a sword and came to her side.

"Haven't you guessed?" Bronn said, putting his weapons away. "I'm sick to fucking death of the Lannisters. Well, two of them anyways. I want to go north with you, to Winterfell or wherever Tyrion is."

"But you're a knight," Gendry said. "You serve the Lannisters."

"Aye, I am a knight, and a piss poor one at that. As for the Lannisters, Cersei's been giving me the evil eye of late. She don't trust me, and I don't trust her not to take my head off. Ser Jaime knows she wants me dead. That's why he sent me out of the city to look for you."

"Why should we trust you?" Arya asked, Needle still pointing at him.

"Little lady, there is a war coming, and the Lannisters are going to lose. I want to be on the winning side. I was a sellsword long before I became a knight. I'm just changing my cloak. Lady, princess, whatever you want to be called, my sword is yours. Till we reach Winterfell at least."

Arya knew sellswords wanted money. "I can't pay you. I have no money."

"Your brother and sister can pay me when we see them. Or the new Queen can later if I live through all the mess to come. So, we have a deal?"

Arya was unsure and she looked at Gendry. "He did kill them," he said. "We do need horses. And help."

She knew he was right. She looked at Bronn, still not knowing if she could totally trust him, but it was better having him on their side than not.

"We have a deal."

* * *

 **Castle Black – Jon**

Ten days it took to reach Castle Black. It could have been longer, but the weather held good and it only snowed one day and not that much of the white stuff came down. A few men of the Vale took ill and one died, as did a few horses and donkeys from falls. They burned all the dead, man and animals.

At the castle, Jon gave orders to make camp as he and his commanders went inside to be warmly greeted by Edd and the other men of the Watch. "Fuck it's good to see your ugly mug again," Edd said as they hugged. "You can have your old job back if you want."

"Seems like I have a different job now," Jon said.

"Oh, right. I suppose you want me to bend the knee now, do you, Your Grace?"

"Fucking southerners," Tormund growled. "Come on. There's work to do."

"First I must see my brother. Tormund, tell the commanders I will see them in the dining hall."

Jon and Ghost followed Edd as he took him to one of the old towers that the Watch hardly used anymore. "I put them in here."

"Them?"

"Aye, the Reed girl, Meera is with Bran. Howland Reed's daughter, she said."

"Sam told me she and her brother were with Bran. Howland Reed was a friend of my father."

"So she said. She won't leave his side."

"Where's Hodor and Meera's brother Jojen?"

"Dead."

That was a shock. "Dead? How?"

"They've been talking, Jon, about things that happened to them up north of the Wall. It's…it's quite the tale. Not sure if I believe half of it but…that's for you to decide."

Edd said his goodbyes at the door and Jon told Ghost to wait in the corridor. Inside, they were waiting for him, knowing he had arrived. Bran was in a bed, covered in warm furs, and the girl Meera was standing by the side of the bed, a chair behind her, a warm hearth nearby. A table had some empty dishes and a flagon and cups on it.

"Jon!" Bran shouted as he came in and Jon rushed to his side and hugged him.

"Gods, you've gotten bigger," Jon said as he stood again. He turned to Meera. "I am Jon Snow. Thank you for looking after my brother."

"He looked after me as well," she said and then Bran started talking, slow at first and then in a rush, and Jon and Meera told him to slow down and then he picked one name out of the noise.

"Uncle Benjen?" Jon said, feeling a shock go up his spine.

"He saved us," Bran said.

"He did…after Hodor sacrificed himself to let us escape," Meera said with a sniff.

"Tell it all, from the beginning," Jon said.

And so they talked, for an hour, and by then Jon knew almost the whole story, and was shocked to learn how close they had been at Crastor's Keep that night, and even more shocked to hear about how Jojen and Hodor and Summer had died, how the man they called the Three Eyed Raven had been training Bran and how he knew things, and how Benjen was still out there, an ally in their war with the Night King. But when he explained about Hodor, and why he always said 'Hodor', it was too much for Jon to grasp.

"How is that possible?"

"I don't know," Bran said, becoming exhausted from talking so much and the emotions that were brought up. "It was all my fault. I went into the past and did something to his mind. I damaged him for the rest of his life."

Now he sobbed and Meera came to his side and sat on the bed and held him in her arms.

"You should rest," Jon said. "We will talk more in the morning."

"Wait," Meera told him. "Tell him the rest," she said to Bran in a quiet voice. "Tell him about…about Lord Stark and my father…and the rest."

But now Bran was quiet and would not look at Jon. "What does she mean, Bran?"

He turned back and his eyes were full of hurt. "I can't tell you. I have to show you or you won't believe it. Something my visions helped me see and understand. I need a weirwood."

"There's one just north of the Wall."

"I know."

"It's late now. Tomorrow we can go. Get some rest."

He turned to go when Bran stopped him. "Rickon is dead, your letter to the Lord Commander said."

Jon nodded and sighed. "Aye."

"Tell me how."

Jon looked at him and knew he was hurting. Bran and Rickon had always been close, the youngest two boys. But he had to know. "Ramsey Bolton killed him with an arrow in the back. Forced him to run to our army and then shot him down like he was on a hunt. I tried to save him…but I wasn't fast enough."

"Gods," said Meera. "What kind of monster was this man?"

"The worse kind," Jon told them.

"There was a woman with Rickon, she took him to the Umber lands," Meera said. "Osha."

"She's dead," Jon told them. "The people at Winterfell told us Ramsey killed her."

"How did she die?" Bran asked, his voice choking, trying to hold back his tears.

"He stabbed her. She died quick they said." And then he fed her to his dogs, but Jon would not tell them that.

"How did this monster die?" Bran asked next.

"In a lot of pain, so not to worry. Rickon and Osha and many more have been avenged. Get some rest."

He would not tell him what their sister had done. He would find out some day, but for now Jon let him hold onto his belief their sister was still the young girl who had gone south to King's Landing with stars in her eyes, not the woman she now was…had been turned into, by the men who had used her.

Jon had wanted Ramsey dead, but it was her place to do it, and though he thought hanging or beheading was good enough, Sansa had a darker sense of revenge than he could ever have imagined. When the Bolton maester told Jon of all that went on at Winterfell under the Bolton rule, of how many had died, had been flayed and how Roose Bolton had been murdered by his own son and then his Frey wife and new baby were fed to the dogs, Jon knew Sansa's revenge was appropriate after all.

As he left them, Jon thought on all Bran had said but he had to put it aside for now to face his commanders. And this brought up his other worries, especially about the make up of his army. The Vale men were valiant and strong, but he was unsure how they would react to his commands as they were not his subjects. They were his allies, and allies could at times be troublesome. The wildlings were another issue, never bending the knee, and were quick to anger and quick to do as they pleased.

As for the Northerners, the Mormonts, Glovers, Cerwyns, and Manderlys were with him in body and heart. The rest he was unsure of. The Umbers and Karstarks had betrayed them, and had joined the Boltons. The leaders of all three families had died in the battle, but a few hundred of their men still lived. They had bent the knee to him and Sansa, and swore allegiance to House Stark and him as King in the North, but Jon still did not trust them. Yet he needed them, and when Tormund and some others said maybe they should just kill them and have done with, Jon had balked.

"If I kill these prisoners I will have to kill every Umber and Karstark and Bolton and razed their castles," he had said to Sansa and Ser Davos as they had spoken on it soon after the battle and Jon had been named King.

"You will be branded murderer if you do," said Ser Davos. "We need men with swords. Living men. Even these men."

"The Umbers gave Rickon to the Boltons," Sansa reminded them. "How can we trust them? Robb killed Lord Karstark. They will never be totally loyal."

"Aye, you have a point, my lady," said Ser Davos. "Maybe better to send them home to defend their lands."

"I need them, with us," Jon said. "If I send them home, more will want to follow. And if they sit home nursing their grievances they will someday stab me in the back. I need them on my side."

"The Stark name they will never truly love again," Sansa said.

"No," Jon replied. "But they are men of the North. If they have no love for us, maybe they do for their homelands."

The three of them confronted prisoners, held in a large open field near the castle, with tents for shelter and guards patrolling the perimeter. He called for their leaders and ten men came forward while the rest watched in the background.

"I know some of you men have no love for me or my family," he began. "But the real enemy is not me, or the Lannisters. The real enemy is North of the Wall, the White Walkers and their wights. If we keep fighting each other, they will overrun all the North, your homes and mine. I need ever man who can hold a sword to come with me. You are Northmen the same as me. You sided with my enemies, who took my family's home and killed my brother and many others. But I am willing to put aside all that. The North, all the people of the North, must stand together or we will surely all die."

One came forward, the oldest, with the Umber sigil on his surcoat. "Aye, we sided with the Boltons, but many of the men here had no choice. We follow our lords, as any loyal man does, and when they followed the Boltons, we did too. But if what you say is true of these demons, then now we will follow you…my King."

He got down on his knees and soon the rest joined him and then all the prisoners did so. The Umber man spoke once more. "Put steel in our hands again, my King, and show us the true enemy and we are you and yours for all the days to come."

"Rise," Jon said. "Rise and be welcomed back into the fold."

The Umber man shouted. "The King in the North!" And soon the rest did as well and they rose to their feet as one. Jon ordered their arms and armor returned the next day.

"A good speech," Ser Davos said later. "Let us hope they will keep their word this time."

Jon knew he was right, for a man who was once your enemy would always hold some grievance in his heart. But Jon needed them, and so they had marched to the Wall with the rest. Each family followed its banners, the former enemies at the rear, with the Vale between them and the Northmen who had always stayed loyal. The wildlings had led the vanguard and sent out patrols and scouts so they would not be surprised by anything that had somehow managed to get south of the Wall. Nothing had…yet.

In the dining hall the commanders had gathered. Jon took a cup of mulled wine and sat. "The Watch holds the Wall," he began. "Now we must decide the best place for our men."

Long they argued and eventually came to some decisions. The wildlings would send patrols out north of the Wall, searching for signs of the enemy. The Northmen and the rest of the wildlings would help the Watch man the top of the Wall, including small groups that would go east and west to the closest nearby forts in case the enemy came there. The Vale would hold a position inside and just south of Castle Black, a reserve force that would charge though the tunnel under the Wall or could counter attack in case they got through the tunnel. Jon was for blocking the tunnel now, but he wanted to wait until the patrols returned and had news. And Bran wanted to go to the weirwood.

They went the next morning, Jon and Bran and Meera, with Tormund and many of his men and women as a guard. Ghost came as well.

The land was quiet as they walked north, their breath coming in clouds in the frigid air. Bran was pulled on a sleigh behind a horse with Jon leading it. Soon they reached the weirwood and Tormund told his people to fan out and keep their eyes open.

"Help me," Bran said and Meera and Jon helped take him to the weirwood. It was the same tree Jon and Sam had said their oaths under and thinking back to that Jon remembered how Ghost had found the dead rangers nearby and how they later turned into wights, the first ones Jon had ever killed…but not the last.

Bran sat by the tree and Jon bent close to his side. "I don't know if this will work," Bran said. "But take my hand. And you had better sit down." Jon did so and Meera sat with them on the cold snow.

"No matter what you see," Bran said. "Just remember to hold onto my hand. You can speak to me, but don't try to speak to anyone else."

"Who will I see?"

"My father," said Meera. "And…Lord Stark…and some more people."

"You've done this?" Jon asked.

"No. But he tells me what he sees."

"Is it real or just a vision?"

"It's real," Bran replied. "Sadly…all of it is real, things that happened many years ago. Are you ready?"

"Aye."

"Then take my hand."

Jon took Bran's left hand with his right and then with his own right hand Bran reached up and touched the face on the weirwood. For a moment Jon thought it didn't work, and then Bran's eyes turned milky white and Jon felt a surge of something flow through Bran's hand and into his …and then all was black before his eyes.

And then he could see and Bran was standing beside him, tall and strong looking, taller than Jon. "Bran…you can walk!"

"Only here," he said, a sad look in his eyes. He looked up. "The Tower of Joy it is called, but there is no joy here."

A tall sandstone tower was built into a rocky hillside and down below it were two men, dressed in armor, confronting six more men. Jon got a shock. "Is that…father?"

"Yes, my father, and Howland Reed, and four companions, soon to die. That man talking is Ser Arthur Dayne of King Aerys' Kingsguard. We are somewhere in Dorne, almost twenty years ago, the last days of Robert's Rebellion."

"I want to get closer."

"No…we must not interfere," Bran said as he held Jon's hand tight. They watched the men talk, and then fight, and Jon was shocked at how fast and how good Ser Authur Dayne was. He had heard the stories, but seeing was not the same…and then when he thought his father would die, the wounded Howland Reed stabbed Ser Authur from behind and Lord Stark finished him off.

"Wait…that's not how he said it happened," Jon said, confused.

"Yes, but this, what we see here, is the truth. He lied to us."

"But why would he lie?"

"I know not. But that is not all he lied about…or failed to say. Come."

From high above they heard a woman scream and Lord Stark raced into the tower. Bran and Jon followed, up some stairs, higher and higher, until finally they reach an upper room… and saw a scene of horror.

A young woman was in a bed, and she was covered in blood, as was the bed. "Ned," she said with a weak voice.

"Lyanna," he called out.

"Lyanna?" Jon said in shock. "Aunt Lyanna?"

"Yes…my aunt," Bran said and Jon was puzzled. Why would he say 'my aunt' when she was aunt to both of them?

They were speaking and it was hard to hear the words, but then Lyanna said, "I don't want to die." Lord Stark called for water and for a maester, and Jon realized there were two more people in the room, two women…and one had a baby in her arms.

"Lyanna had a baby," he said.

"Yes," said Bran.

Then Jon came closer and heard Lyanna whispering to his father. "If Robert finds out he will kill him. You know he will. You have to protect him. Promise me, Ned, promise me."

"Who is the father?" Jon asked Bran.

"I believe it is Rhaegar Targaryen's baby. He kidnapped her, hid her away. And why else would the baby need protecting from Robert?"

Now the woman carried the baby over to Ned Stark and Lyanna spoke twice more. "Promise me, Ned,…promise me." And then she was gone.

Jon did not know why but he felt his heart wrench at that moment and he gasped, loudly. Lord Stark looked his way, as if he had heard him.

"We must be quiet," Bran said.

But Jon could not help it, and felt tears on his face, and suddenly he knew something that could not be true. "Bran…the baby…who is the baby? Where is the baby now?"

Bran sighed. "It's you, Jon. You are the baby."

Another shock and he felt weak all over. "That's impossible. Lord Eddard Stark is my father."

"No…I am afraid he is not. Rhaegar Targaryen was most likely your father…and Lyanna Stark was most definitely your mother."

"It can't be true," Jon gasped.

"Search in your heart Jon and you know it is true. My father came home from the war with a baby, you. He never told anyone who your mother was. And now we know why."

Jon's mind reeled with the implications of all Bran was saying and he stared with tears in his eyes as Lord Stark held the baby, held him, and then Jon looked on his mother, seeing her for the first time in his life, now dead, and he wanted to reach out, hold her, cry out, curse at the gods for being so cruel. And then as he lurched toward the bed, to finally touch her, hold her, the woman he had never known, who had given him life, Bran let go of his hand and all went black and his mother disappeared as if she had never even existed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Game of Thrones Season 7 Chapter 4**

 **The Step Stones – Daenerys**

It was good to be aloft again, on Drogon, and with his two brothers at their sides. Ahead of the fleet they flew, scouting the way through the Step Stones. Three days it took them to sail from Lys to here, and now the many islands, large and small, spread across the northwest horizon in the late afternoon sun. The captain who commanded her flagship told her the Step Stones were once part of a land bridge called the Arm of Dorne which connected Westeros and Essos, but during some ancient war the Children of the Forest shattered it with magic and created the islands that now existed. Dany wasn't sure if she believed it or not, but it was hard to dispute tales of the incredible when one flew a dragon.

She was dressed warmly even though aloft it was not very cold. In Lys they had learned that winter had come to Westeros and snows were already in the Riverlands. And winter in earnest had arrived in the North.

Dany had sent Tyrion on ahead, almost seven days ago now, so hopefully he was nearing the North, trying to win allies to their side…or at least keep them out of the war to come. More enemies they did not need, least of all the Step Stone pirates. The Lyseni had said they were very active of late, taking advantage of the chaos in nearby lands and lack of naval patrols to raid and plunder any ship they came across. Sallandor Saan was said to be the most dangerous, with the largest ships. He once sailed with Stannis Baratheon, but with Stannis dead, Saan had gone back to his old ways.

No ships she could see in the waters below except her own and after some more time looking she turned back. Drogon landed on the after deck of her flagship and she climbed off his back. She carefully put the chains on his legs as a nervous sailor brought a goat on deck for Drogon's supper.

Varys and the captain greeted her on deck. "No ships ahead," she said.

"That does not mean they are not there, Your Grace," the captain replied. He was a Pentoshi merchantman, named Inesto Pyllia, who had served with Illyrio Mopatis for many years. He was dark haired and blue eyed, with a big beard, a big man dressed in rough seaman's clothing, smelling of the sea. He had sailed his ship the _Princess of the Seas_ to Meereen from Dorne when he learned Varys was looking for ships to take her home. His was one of the largest in the fleet, large enough for Drogon to rest on its stern deck, and when she saw the name etched in gold lettering in its woodwork she thought it a good omen. "I was a princess for many years," she said. "When my brother was to be a king. I will make this my flagship."

Captain Inesto knew the waters of Westeros and around King's Landing well he claimed. "No other man knows these waters better than Inesto Pyllia, Your Grace," he said when introduced to her, but then he amended that comment. "Well, maybe one. Ser Davos Seaworth, the Onion Knight."

"Such a man I could use," Dany told him.

"He serves King Stannis," Inesto said. "Served, I should say, Your Grace, for Stannis' army was destroyed and he is dead. I pray Ser Davos was not among the dead. Good men are hard to find these days."

She could not disagree with that. Hopefully she had found good men, and they would serve her well.

"The pirates of the Step Stones hide their ships in coves and inlets," Inesto explained after she said she could see no ships ahead. "They wait for a chance and then strike fast and without warning. We will not see them until they are already chasing us."

"We have over a hundred ships," Varys said, looking around the sea. "Surely they will not risk attacking so large a force."

"They won't," Inesto said. "But look, my lord. How many of our ships lag behind, drift to starboard and port, out of touch with the others? Many, I can see. With the winds and seas it is hard to turn about to support a straggler in trouble. They could be on it and board it and kill the crew before we can come to their aid."

"These are not merchant ships," Dany reminded him. "All are filled with warriors."

"Just so, Your Grace," Inesto replied. "But these pirates know their business and have much experience at killing. All are at risk who sail these waters."

Dany fretted. She did not want to lose one ship. "What should we do?"

He shrugged. "There is nothing to do but sail on and keep a watchful eye." He looked up. "Soon it will be dark and we will be among the islands. We must make column or some will run aground." He began to shout commands and his sailors began to run up signal flags. Soon the ships began to assemble into a somewhat better formation, coming to make two ragged columns. The ironborn raced ahead, leading both columns, with Yara Greyjoy's _Black Wind_ leading the port column, seven ships in front of hers. The ironborn ships were smaller than her flagship, but sleeker and better suited for war. Yara had assured them she had sailed the Step Stones before and knew the way through them. She and Inesto had bent over the maps when in Lys and Inesto had seemed satisfied that Yara knew the way.

On they sailed, as the sun began to set, and darkness gathered in the partially cloudy sky. Lights began to twinkle in the dying light, as sailors lit lamps fore and aft to mark their ship so no other would collide with them.

Down below Missandei in her cabin had prepared spicy mulled wine for her and a light meal. They sat together and ate and talked. She worried on Grey Worm, who sailed on another ship with the Unsullied.

"They do not like the water," she said in High Valyrian. "Neither do the Dothraki."

"When we get to Tarth we will have a nice rest," Dany assured her.

"Is Westeros beautiful, Your Grace?" she asked.

"I do not know," Dany replied. "I was born on Dragonstone and was carried away soon after. I have never seen Westeros."

"The sailors say winter is on the land. It will be very cold." Then she smiled. "I would like to see snow. I cannot imagine a land all white with it. It must be beautiful."

"I would think so," Dany replied, for she had never seen snow either. Then she had a bad thought. After she ate she tracked down Varys in his cabin. "We are not ready for winter," she said as she sat at his table. He offered her wine but she had had enough already.

"No, we are not," Varys replied. "The Dothraki and Unsullied have never experienced it. The Dornish and men of the Reach have no or little experience of winter either."

"What should we do?"

"When we reach Tarth we must purchase better clothing and boots for our soldiers."

They had plenty of gold and silver on board, courtesy of Meereen's treasure vaults and Illyrio's generosity. But it was of the wrong kind. "We have no coin of Westeros."

"I am sure we can persuade some merchants to accept our coins and the promises of the Iron Bank and Illyrio."

"Good. Let us hope."

"Your Grace, there is another issue," Varys said. "Who will command our army when we reach Westeros?"

That took her aback. "I will, of course."

"Yes, of course. But, forgive me, Your Grace, it pains me to say this but of actual battle you have little experience. Flying a dragon and burning ships at anchor is one thing, but coordinating masses of men on the field against another army is quite another. It may not come to that if they surrender, but if it does I think we should have an experienced battle commander. Also, there is the point that you will be in the sky, so we need someone to be in command on the ground."

She knew he was right. Always she hoped Ser Barristan Selmy would lead her forces in the great war to come. But now he was dead. Ser Jorah and Daario as well would do as commander, but she had left both behind. She looked at Varys. "Who do you recommend?"

"Among our allies, Lord Randyll Tarly is the best field commander. He even beat Robert Baratheon once, though sadly did not finish the job. From Dorne there are several choices, including Lord Anders Yronwood. Yet there is one man in Westeros who does seem to inspire great loyalty, and has much experience of battle as well, plus the gift of youth."

"Who is that, pray tell?"

"Jon Snow."

"Jon Snow? But I know not if he will be our ally."

"Yes, we must wait on word from Lord Tyrion. If he does come to our side, I would suggest offering him a command position in your army."

"Ships ahoy!" came the shout suddenly from above before Dany could answer Varys. They raced up on deck, where Inesto stood on the bow with a Myrish spy glass clamped to his eye. The sun was gone but a last bit of twilight still gave a bluish cast to the sky.

"Where are they?" Dany asked the captain.

"Ahead," he said.

"How many?"

"Hard to say, they are blending into the darkness and the islands behind them. I counted twenty, maybe more, to port." Then he swung his glass to the right and after a few breathless moments he spoke. "As many to starboard."

"Pirates?" Varys asked.

"No, golden krakens I saw on many a sail," Inesto said. "Other sigils of the Iron Islands. I believe we have found this Euron Greyjoy."

Already the ironborn ships of her fleet were racing ahead to attack, and they could hear drums beating and shouts from across the water as oars swept faster and their galleys picked up speed.

"I must help them!" she said and turned to run back to Drogon but Varys stopped her.

"Your Grace, can you fly at night? Can he?" he asked, worry in his tone and on his round face.

"I…I never tried."

"Forgive my rudeness, but we cannot take a chance. You are everything, Your Grace. If you fall our cause will as well."

"I cannot stay out of the battle!"

"Lord Varys is right, Your Grace," Inesto said. "The sky and sea will blend into one if you fly now. Ship's masts and spars and rigging will snag your dragons and you. Better to stay here. Let the Greyjoys have their revenge for their father. We will move up to support them if the chance presents itself. But we must be cautious and not see friend for foe in the dark."

Already the last of twilight was gone, and the sea and sky were dark. Ahead she could barely make out the forms of the ships. Then came a blaze of light as a fireball was launched from one ship towards another.

"It has begun," said the captain and Dany could only watch in frustration as the ironborn ships raced towards each other into the jaws of battle and death.

* * *

 **King's Landing – Jaime**

"My lord, our scouts report the Tyrell army is but two days march from the Blackwater," the commander told Lord Jaime Lannister as they gathered in conference room in the army barracks.

Lord Jaime, he was now, his sister the Queen finally getting around to confirming and bestowing his title as Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. She also wanted to call him Protector of the Realm but Jaime balked at the idea.

"Ned Stark once had that title, for a few brief moments," he said to her and Qyburn when they suggested it at a small council meeting a few days ago.

Cersei took that as a rebuke. "Ned Stark wanted to throw me and my children into a cell. You should have killed him when you had the chance."

"Yes," Jaime said, ignoring her referring to their children as her children only. Qyburn knew the truth of course, or he wouldn't be very good at his job, but they had to keep up the pretense in front of others that they were just brother and sister. "And then Catelyn Stark would have killed Tyrion and all your dreams would have come true."

"Unfortunately she was a lamb, not a lion," Cersei countered. "She had the little monster in her hands and all she had to do was cut his throat."

"She feared for her daughters' lives."

Cersei snorted. "I would have applauded her and given her back her daughters if she had killed the little beast."

Jaime sighed. "It matters not now. She is dead, her husband is dead, and the girls are gone."

"Has there been word of Arya?" she asked. "Have you heard from Bronn?"

Jaime just looked at Qyburn. "Shall you or I tell her the news? Better you, I think."

Qyburn cleared his throat and spoke, for once seeming nervous for they both knew how she would react. "It appears we have a new problem, Your Grace. Word was just received of a fight at an inn on the Kingsroad several days ago. Ser Bronn…has turned his cloak."

"What do you mean?" she asked, her confusion clear to see.

Jaime gave the answer. "He means Bronn killed four of our men and has joined Arya Stark and the smith."

She just stared at them, her fury building and then finally she screamed. "Traitor! I want his head!"

"A bird has been sent to Harrenhal and another to Castle Darry," Qyburn said. "The Twins as well. Men will soon be searching for them."

She ranted on and on after that, Jaime recalled, cursing Bronn and Tyrion's names, and the matter of naming him Protector of the Realm was dropped.

Now as he stared at the map he wondered what his father would do. The Tyrell forces numbered close to fifty or sixty thousand, the scouts estimated, but Jaime knew that might be an exaggeration. And many of those would not be fighting men. The southern flowers liked to campaign in comfort, and many a lord would no doubt have brought his servants, and every knight had his squire. Lord Tarly would have wanted to hurry, travel light and strike hard, but he was fighting against southern traditions, and so the Tyrell army swelled and slowed, and was not as effective as it should have been.

Jaime had close to forty-five thousand men under arms in and around the city. But that included about six thousand gold cloaks, not fit for much but manning the walls. Another ten thousand were in the west, under the command of Ser Lyle Crakehall, the Strongboar, with orders to demonstrate towards Highgarden but not get so far forward he could not retreat if need be. They had some more men in the Riverlands, manning Harrenhal. And the Freys were sending four thousand south right now, but the delays in dealing with the succession after Lord Walder's death meant they would be late arriving to the capital.

"Where are the Dornish?" Jaime asked.

"Last reported near Storm's End, my lord," one commander said. "That was several days ago. I expect they are marching up the Kingsroad through the Kingswood by now. We have reports many of the Stormlands lords are joining them, though what numbers they have left after Stannis' wars and losses it is hard to say. Whatever the case, a week or so and they will be on the Blackwater as well."

"And the Targaryen girl?"

"No word since she was spotted in Lys, my lord."

Jaime could see it but couldn't quite grasp what had to be done. His father would have seen it, Tyrion and Bronn as well. Jaime was not one for strategy and tactics. Glorified bodyguard his father had once called him, hitting painfully close to the truth. All he ever wanted was to don the white cloak and be one of the seven who stood at the pinnacle of knighthood. It was only when you got there did one realize that it was the most unglamorous boring position in all the Seven Kingdoms. The cooks did more in one day than he did in a year, always standing around, looking, watching, training for the day when, when...an assassin puts poison in your King's wine cup and all the training means nothing for you are helpless to do anything to save him.

They were waiting for him to say something, these men who had served his father for so long…yes, that's what his father would have done.

"Your opinions, my lords," he said.

Ser Addam Marbrand, the cavalry commander, spoke first and what he said everyone agreed to. "We strike, now, strike hard and fast at the Tyrells, while they are alone. Lord Tarly comes north before his allies can join him. We crush the Tyrells while they are alone and that will give us better odds against the other two armies."

"Like Robert did at Summerhall," one commander said.

Jaime felt his blood rise at the mention of Robert, a man he long wanted to kill, but knew it would do no good to show his anger, for why should he hate the dead King. Of course they all knew the rumors about Jaime and Cersei but as true nobles they would never speak on such.

"Yes," Jaime said. "Robert smashed three enemy armies in one day. He didn't take the Iron Throne sitting on his arse like we've being doing these past weeks. The only chance we have is to attack, now. Prepare the men. We leave as soon as possible. Ser Addam, lead your cavalry across the Blackwater and harass Tarly as soon as you can."

"I suggest a night attack, my lord," Ser Addam said. "Catch them in their beds."

"At your discretion. We will form the rest of the army here," Jaime said, pointing to the map. "South of the Blackwater, across the first bridge upstream from the city. If I recall this is somewhat open ground with just a few farms. A good place for a battle."

The commanders looked at each other with unease in their eyes. "Say what you think," Jaime commanded.

"They could avoid us, and march downriver and cross on boats closer to the city," said one lord.

"I think not," said another. "Tarly will not avoid a battle. He knows if he destroys our army outside the walls the city will fall faster."

"But in this position we could get trapped against the river," another one said. "With only one bridge for withdrawal, a retreat might turn into a rout."

Jaime knew they were right in all they said, but also knew they had no choice. "My lords, we cannot come to grips with them from north of the Blackwater so south we must go. Ser Addam will whittle them down and we will let them come at us, and then strike when we see a weakness."

"May I make a suggestion, my lord?" someone else asked.

"By all means."

"Do we have any wildfire?"

"I am sure we can find some or have it made. Why?"

"I suggest we put catapults and trebuchets on the north bank of the Blackwater. It is not so wide here. Keep the army on the south bank in a tight defensive perimeter. When the Tyrells attack, we unleash wildfire from the siege engines into their ranks."

Ser Addam laughed. "The southern flowers will panic for sure after a taste of that fire. Then I can run them down."

Jaime liked it. "Very well. Then that is the plan. See to your men and good luck, my lords."

As they departed, Jaime kept looking at the map, and his eye unwittingly moved to the Riverlands. Bronn was up their somewhere, with the Stark girl, heading to Winterfell… and maybe Tyrion as well.

Bronn was on Cersei's to die list, there was no doubt in Jamie's mind, especially after they learn of Tyrion's return. He could see the wheels turning in her head, thinking on how Bronn would betray them some day, for to her he was Tyrion's man and always was. When she asked them to send patrols up the Kingsroad, Jaime told Bronn to do it, to get him away from her.

Bronn had eagerly agreed. "I was just thinking of putting some distance between me and your sister."

"It's not you," Jaime said, not totally honest. "She trusts no one and sees plots behind ever word and gesture."

"That could get a man killed someday…maybe even you."

Jaime laughed. "No, she will not kill me." Then his face turned serious. "She and I came into the world together and we will leave it together."

Bronn looked at him and then spoke quietly. "You could leave. The city, I mean."

"And where would I go? All of Westeros hates me and wants to see me dead."

"There's a great big world out there besides Westeros. Money you got, you could set up yourself in style somewhere. If you get bored and feel like killing a man you could join a free company."

"Refresh my memory. Do the free companies hire one handed men?"

"Aye, for arrow fodder. I've seen worse crippled men than you in the battle line."

"That's not for me. I will die here while I still have some dignity left."

An hour later Bronn and four men were readying to leave the stables. "If I find her do you still want her dead?" Bronn asked him out of earshot of the other men.

"No, Cersei is right about that. We need to keep the North out of the wars to come. Find her, hurry back. I still need your sarcastic wit and battle wisdom."

"I've got no where else to go," Bronn said and then they were gone.

Well, he found her, but Bronn did not return with her. He figured out he did have somewhere else to go. Or maybe he planned all along to change his cloak. Jaime did not blame him. No one else wanted Bronn's head on a spike. He could not say the same for himself and his sister.

As he thought on Bronn and Arya Stark he recalled his oath to Catelyn Stark to return her daughters to her. An empty oath, he know knew. At the time he just wanted to be free, and would have said anything. When Catelyn Stark died he thought his oath was ended, but it still didn't feel like it was. Later, when he asked Brienne to find them, he was just looking for redemption of some kind, at least in his mind. He never expected her to find them. He thought both of them were dead. But somehow she found Sansa.

Now she was a potential enemy and Cersei still wanted her head for Joffrey's murder. And Tyrion's as well. As he thought on Bronn's treachery Jaime knew Bronn and Tyrion would soon be in Winterfell, drinking their wine, trading japes again, and enjoying life. All Jaime had to look forward to were his sister's cold looks, blood, and pain.

Cersei had to be told of the plans to march and it was his duty to do so. He found her in the gardens, with her guards of course, including the monster Ser Gregor Clegane. It was cold and she was wrapped in a heavy fur trimmed cloak. The flowers in the gardens were mostly gone, and the trees were losing their leaves, all signs of winter approaching. He explained the battle plan and that he would leave sufficient men to guard the city. She merely nodded.

"May the gods grant you victory, commander," she said in her cold voice she used with him nowadays when she was not shouting in small council meetings.

Jaime was about to leave but hesitated. He looked at her, this woman who he had come into the world with, who he had loved for so long, who had he done terrible things for to stay by her side…all that was gone now, he knew. He could die in the next day or two and she seemed indifferent, without a care for him at all.

"Your Grace," he said, dipped his head and then he left her, perhaps for the last time ever.

"Wait," she said, an urgency in her voice. Jaime turned back as Cersei looked towards Clegane.

"Ser Gregor, you will accompany my brother on the field of battle and serve as his personal guard."

As Clegane stepped forward Jaime felt his blood rising. He took this as an insult. "Cersei, I don't need a…"

"Yes, you do," she said, and now he heard the worry in her voice that he had heard before when he went off to do something dangerous. Her voice softened. "You have only one hand, Jaime…your best hand is gone. And so is that traitor Bronn. Ser Gregor will stay by your side. That is a royal command."

Jaime was about to protest again but then another thought came into his head. "As you command, Your Grace," he said and again dipped his head and walked away with Ser Gregor following him.

The big brute was silent as always and Jaime wondered if he could even talk. But he knew he could hear and understand and that was all that was needed. "You will not be my bodyguard," Jaime said after they left the gardens. "You will be in the vanguard of the ranks in the fight to come. I want you front and center in your golden armor where every Tyrell man can see you as you cut down their brothers in arms and cannot be killed. If that doesn't sow panic in their ranks, I will eat my other hand."

* * *

 **Winterfell – Sansa**

The ravens came, some with news so unexpected and some with potential for so much disaster that Sansa was at a loss at how to deal with them. Thank the gods Jon had left Ser Davos behind, and despite her early misgivings about having Stannis Baratheon's Hand on their side, she now was glad he was.

The Bolton's maester, Wolkan, she did not trust at first either, though he had never been unkind to her when she was Ramsey's wife. And now he was proving his loyalty to her house, caring for the wounded from the battle, and also telling them all that went on at the Dreadfort and at Winterfell before and after her arrival. Before Jon left he commanded all raven messages be brought unopened to Sansa and Wolkan had so far not failed to do so. Sansa knew because Jon put loyal men on guard in the rookery and they knew when any messages arrived or were sent. She also commanded that all raven messages and letters for dispatch riders were to be shown to her and her alone. Lord Baelish protested this, of course.

"Is this the way you treat the man who saved your brother and brought you victory?" he asked.

They were in her solar and Ser Davos was standing nearby and spoke for her. "No, this is the way we are treating everyone. You have a reputation for conspiracy and cloak turning, Lord Baelish. No, don't protest, we know it's true."

"And you have a reputation for smuggling," Baelish retorted. "You lost some fingers for that, did you not?"

"Aye, true on both accounts, but that is of no matter. The maester here told us about how Lord Bolton commanded all raven messages to and from you be read. We will do the same."

Baelish ignored him now and looked at Sansa, sitting behind her desk in the solar. "If this is your command, my lady, I have no choice but to obey."

"It is."

Baelish relented. "As you wish." He handed to her a long strip of parchment with a message. "Supply requests. For Moat Cailin," he said. She read it aloud and then Davos nodded to her.

"Very well. Seal it and stamp it," she said to Baelish.

"My wax is in my rooms." He held out his hand for the message.

She kept it. "Bring it here. We will wait, my lord."

And so the cumbersome process went on like this. Fortunately, few people in the castle had reason to send any messages as most of the lords had gone with Jon to the Wall. Even Lady Mormont had gone, saying her place was by her men's side when Jon suggested she remain behind in Winterfell. She was still a young girl in his eyes, despite being head of her house, and he wanted to protect her, but as head of her house he could not stop her from going to the Wall.

Maester Wolkan brought the messages to her when they arrived, but her trust of him so far did not extend to revealing the contents of the messages, so they came to her unopened. In most houses a maester advised the lord and lady, but Sansa always sent him away after he brought the messages.

One day one came from Moat Cailin from a Ser Morton Waynwood, who commanded the garrison there. "Gods," she said after she read it. She immediately sent for Ser Davos to come to her solar, and she told him what it said.

"Command them to hang her, my lady," were the first words out of his mouth, his face set in anger.

"I can't command that. Jon banished Melisandre, he did not order her death."

"She is trying to gather support among the men of that fort," Ser Davos said. "Why? Because she needs men to serve her and protect her. Once she has support, the gods alone know what mischief she will get up to."

"Maybe," Sansa replied. "But she did save Jon's life. He banished her. I cannot order her death."

Ser Davos grunted and still seemed angry but then nodded. "Aye, as you say, my lady. We should send word to let her go south and make sure she never gets past Moat Cailin again."

"That will serve." Sansa wrote the message, signed and sealed it and sent it the next morning at first light.

The next day a raven arrived from White Harbor from Ser Wylis Manderly. "Good gods," she said aloud and again she called for Ser Davos and she read this one aloud in detail to him.

" _Lord Tyrion Lannister has arrived in White Harbor. He claims he is an ambassador for Daenerys Targaryen and that she has three dragons, a fleet, and an army in Lys that is about to invade Westeros to fight Queen Cersei. He requests words with you and our King. I request instructions as to how to deal with him."_

"This is unbelievable," Ser Davos said as she handed him the message and he read it for himself. "Daenerys Targaryen? The Mad King's daughter, is she not?"

"Yes," Sansa said. "When I was in King's Landing there was talk of her and her three dragons. Many believed it all a pack of lies. Maybe it is not anymore."

"Maybe," Davos said, and he rubbed his beard, appearing to be thinking. "If these dragons are real, we could surely use them on our side in the war to come up north."

"Most surely," Sansa answered. "What should we do?"

"It appears we must receive this ambassador as requested."

Sansa thought for a moment and then agreed. She wrote back and told them to immediately send Tyrion on to Winterfell. Next she wrote to Jon to tell him what was happening, about Tyrion, but not about Melisandre. As yet they had not received a raven to say the army had reached the Wall but she was sure they would soon.

A third raven arrived the very next morning. As Maester Wolkan handed it to her he looked worried. "My lady, the seal's sigil stamp is of House Lannister. The outside writing says it is for Lord Petyr Baelish."

She felt her gut clench as he said those words. A note for Baelish, from the Lannisters. This could only mean trouble. Or maybe it was the gift she had been waiting for. She dismissed him, opened it, and read. And then for a long time she sat and thought on what to do. Finally she decided to wait, and she put the message in her desk drawer and locked it tight. She did not tell Ser Davos what it said, for she knew what he would do. She would wait, for her first husband, for if anyone had the brains to figure this one out, it was Tyrion Lannister.

She did not despise her first husband, as many thought she did, despite her hatred for all things Lannister. He had not abused her or tormented her in any way, unlike her second husband. In fact, he had been nothing but a gentleman to her and had even protected her at times, before and after they were wed. She remembered that day when Joffrey had pointed the crossbow at her in the throne room, and how Tyrion and Bronn had arrived just as Ser Meryn was about to beat her, and Tyrion had protected her from further harm. Then came the other memory, of the Hound, Sandor Clegane, and his gesture of kindness, wrapping his cloak around her near nakedness.

From that memory came the unwanted one, the day of the riot, when those horrible men had chased her, knocked her down, tore at her clothing, and almost…but then he was there, pulling them off, killing them, lifting her over his strong shoulder, carrying her to safety. Later when she tried to thank him, he rebuffed her kind words, and she had been stunned by his rudeness. And then came the night of the Blackwater, when she found him in her rooms, drunk, blood on his face and armor, a stench of death about him, and he called everyone she knew a killer, looming over her, a look of anger in his eyes.

"You won't hurt me," she had said to him.

"No, little bird, I won't hurt you," he had said back and then he was gone.

A long time later, when she was still a prisoner of the Lannisters, when they made her marry Tyrion, many times she wished she had gone with Sandor Clegane when he offered to take her to Winterfell. And now he was dead too, said the Vale men, killed somewhere on their lands, though no body was ever found. So the rumor went. Different stories they told. Some say he was wounded in a fight with five men in an inn. He killed them all but died later of his wounds. Others say he was killed by outlaws. A third story was that he died protecting a young girl from kidnappers, fighting them while she ran away. Sansa liked that story best. Maybe it showed his true self, the kind self she saw brief glimmers of at times.

They finally heard from Jon the next day, saying all had arrived at the Wall and were safe, for now. And then the next day came a second message from Moat Cailin, too soon to be in answer to the one she had sent, Ser Davos said.

"They are sending her here," Sansa said in surprise as she read the message. Ser Davos took it and then cursed.

"Damn her eyes! What is Brienne thinking? She has gone too far, my lady."

"We must wait for her to arrive and explain it all," Sansa said, trying to calm him.

"King Jon banished her," Davos replied. "Bringing her back to Winterfell is treason!"

"Do not use such words, ser," she said, getting angry now herself. "Lady Brienne saved my life and has dedicated herself to our cause."

He calmed down. "I beg forgiveness, my lady. But…what she did cannot be ignored."

"I know. I am sorry. But we will give Brienne a chance to explain it all first."

"I swore to kill Melisandre if I saw her again."

"Let us be patient," she advised and he merely nodded his head, still angry. Then she asked him about the rest of the message. "What is this Brotherhood Without Banners Ser Morton said is with Brienne?"

"A group of outlaws," he told her. "Lead by Beric Dondarrion."

"Lord Beric Dondarrion, from the Dornish Marches?"

"Aye, I believe so."

"I was in King's Landing when my father sent him out to find Gregor Clegane. I heard he had been killed."

"The letter doesn't say who leads them now. But…there is more I must tell you about him. Melisandre sought them out, this Brotherhood, and went from Dragonstone to the Riverlands. I was unaware of her trip and King Stannis told me nothing of it until she returned weeks later with a boy in tow."

"What boy?"

"Gendry is his name," Davos said. "A blacksmith of King's Landings, he told me when I spoke to him. Somehow he ended up in the Brotherhood and was a smith for them. More of a man than boy, tall and strong but young. They said he was King Robert's bastard son. He certainly had his look."

That took Sansa by surprise. "Joffrey wanted all Robert's bastards dead. They killed a baby of Robert's in the city."

"Aye, so I heard."

"What did they want with this blacksmith?"

"His blood. King's blood is supposed to have magic powers. Which is why…why they burned Shireen." His face paled as he spoke on her.

"Did they kill him as well?"

"No. I helped him escape, and almost paid for it with my life." He talked on what had happened to the smith and why he freed him…and then he told her about leeches and blood and a brazier and the names of three kings, now all dead.

"That's impossible," was her first thought.

"Aye. Maybe so. Maybe not. She has powers, my lady. And I think she used them to help kill your brother."

"The Freys and Lannisters killed Robb. Poison killed Joffrey. Balon Greyjoy fell from a bridge."

"Aye, so it is. But who knows if all that would have happened without her asking her foul god for help."

Sansa had no answer to that. Again she wrote Jon a letter, explaining about Melisandre coming to Winterfell, and asking him what to do about her. She sent it on its way the next morning when the raven Jon had sent from Castle Black with word of their arrival had rested enough.

Three days later Tyrion Lannister arrived at last, in the late afternoon near sunset.

He came in through the east gate, on horse, with five men from White Harbor. All looked cold and tired. She and Ser Davos and Lord Baelish greeted them.

"My lord, welcome to Winterfell," she said.

He dipped his head. "Lady Sansa, how good to see you again. I believe the last time we saw each other was at Joffrey's wedding. Much has gone on since then."

"Yes," she replied. "We can talk on all that later. This is my advisor, Ser Davos Seaworth."

"Lord Tyrion," Ser Davos said, a coldness in his voice Sansa had not expected.

"Well met," Tyrion replied. "I heard you were once advisor to another king."

"Aye, King Stannis Baratheon, once the true King of all Westeros, who you helped defeat at the Blackwater. Where my son died…killed by an explosion of wildfire, which I hear was your idea."

Sansa was shocked at this, having not known this story. Tyrion blanched but quickly recovered. "My good man, we were at war. Many sons died that day, myself almost among them. You may notice the scar."

"Aye, so we were at war. But my son is still dead."

"Ser Davos, this is most unbecoming," Sansa said. "My apologies, Lord Tyrion."

"Not to worry. I am hated from the Arbor to the Wall and even across the Narrow Sea. I am quite used to it.

There was a silence and finally Davos spoke. "My apologies, my lord, my lady. Words I had to say. Now they are said."

"Good," Sansa said. "We will hear no more of it. We all lost family in that war. Some more than others."

"Yes," said Tyrion, with a look of sympathy for her. "Let us hope we can finally put an end to the bloodshed." Then his eyes fell on Baelish, who had remained silent the whole while, and Sansa wondered if he would somehow use this discord between Tyrion and Ser Davos for his own good. "Ah, a familiar face from King's Landing," Tyrion said.

"How good to see you again, Lord Tyrion," Baelish said in his most pleasant manner.

"Indeed," Tyrion replied, and Sansa could not tell if he was glad or not to see Baelish. "I hear you were the great hero in the battle for Winterfell."

Baelish grinned. "I did not wield a sword but I did play my part."

"You must be cold and hungry," Sansa said quickly. "Come to the great hall, all of you."

As their horses were taken away Tyrion kept hold of his small luggage bag. "Was it a long trip from White Harbor?" she asked as they walked across the courtyard, her making nervous small talk, trying to get past the unpleasantness of the initial greeting.

"Longer than we thought," Tyrion replied. "We took a river boat up the White Knife River to Cerwyn Castle, but the river was frozen a good twenty miles from the castle, so we had to make our way overland for two days, with no tents. Fortunately my companions are men of the North and knew how to make a proper shelter from the trees. We sat around a large bonfire and passed the time well as I told them bawdy stories from my youth and we drank some of Lord Wyman's good wine. Horses we were able to get at Cerwyn Castle and so here we are, cold but alive and well. By the way, I owe Lady Cerwyn twenty gold dragons for the horses, even though she wants them all back. Such a price to rent a horse. All I have is coin of the east, which she refused to take, so I am a bit short of funds. Would it be too much of a bother to impose on you in this matter?"

"Of course not," she replied, smiling a bit, forgetting how much he loved to talk. "I will take care of it tomorrow."

"Thank you, my lady. I will repay you of course. A Lannister always pays his debts, even one who no longer has a seat at the family table, small as it is now."

Finally they reached the great hall and sat and ate, the White Harbor men off to a side table and the four of them at a table closer to the head table. Tyrion sat across from her with Baelish at his side and Ser Davos by her left side. The hall was nearly empty as this was not a regularly scheduled meal. They all took wine and ale. Sansa was not very hungry so only sipped some wine, and nibbled on some bread with honey as Tyrion tucked into some beef and barley stew across from her.

"Marvelous," he said after the first bite. After a sip of wine he looked around. "The last time I was here was when King Robert was visiting and then after my trip to the Wall and back."

"Yes," Sansa said. "That was a long time ago. Much has happened since then."

"Quite so," Tyrion replied. "The castle seems to have suffered no damage in the battle."

"The fight was outside," said Baelish.

"As I thought," Tyrion replied. "We passed several large mounds of bone and ash outside the walls. You burned all the dead, men and horse?"

"Aye, we had to," said Ser Davos. "Or they may come back as wights some day."

"So it is true," Tyrion said to this.

"It is all so very true," Sansa told him. "Jon saw thousands of wights rise from the dead at Hardhome when the Night King raised his arms."

"Yes, I have heard of this battle, and this Night King, though my White Harbor companions knew few details. Tell me it all."

So they told him all they knew and when done he seemed convinced of the truth of their words. "Fascinating," he said.

"Now it's your turn," Ser Davos said. "You claim to be an ambassador for Daenerys Targaryen."

"Yes," Tyrion replied and he reached into his bag and pulled out a scroll and he passed it to Sansa. "I believe this should go to you as lady of Winterfell."

Sansa took it opened it and read. It was as she thought, a letter from Daenerys Targaryen, naming Tyrion as her ambassador and giving powers to negotiate with the North and the Stark family and the Vale. A sigil stamp in red wax with a three headed dragon was in the corner. She handed it to Ser Davos who in turn gave it to Baelish.

"Does she really have the dragons?" Baelish asked when the scroll was returned to Tyrion.

"Three," Tyrion said. "Black, green, and white. Named Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion, for her dead Dothraki husband and two brothers. All grown up, and very ferocious." And then he talked, for what seemed like forever, on where he had been, the things he had seen and done, and how he came to be in service to Daenerys Targaryen. Sansa could scare believe it all but she felt he was telling the truth.

"So, now you have my bona fides and know my tale," Tyrion said when at last he finished. His escorts had already eaten and been showed to some rooms to rest as it was now nightfall.

"But you have not told us what your Queen wants," Baelish said.

"Haven't I? How silly of me. She wants to know the Vale and the North's position on the coming war. I trust neither of you will support my sister."

"Never," Sansa said right away.

"Your sister thinks I am a traitor," Baelish said. "She would never accept me as an ally."

Sansa looked at him and wondered how he could lie so well, and then quickly looked away when he glanced in her direction.

"As I thought," Tyrion said. "Now..."

"A moment, my lord," Sansa replied. "We cannot discuss this further until we speak alone."

"Of course," Tyrion said.

"You must be tired," Sansa said. She told a servant to show Tyrion to the guest rooms in the great keep. He bid them goodbye and left.

"Do you think he speaks the truth?" was the first thing Ser Davos asked when they were alone.

"We'd be fools not to believe it," Baelish said. "We must support her. Three dragons, an army of Unsullied, Dothraki horse riders, the Dornish, and the Reach? The Lannisters will lose."

"It seems likely," Sansa said, now unsure of what to think about Baelish and the Lannisters.

"Aye," agreed Ser Davos. "But they are fighting each other when they should all be up here preparing for what will come."

Sansa knew he was right but was tired and needed to think. "Let us rest and speak to Lord Tyrion again in the morning after breakfast." She bid them goodnight and when Baelish went off first she stopped Ser Davos.

"Is there going to be a problem between you and Lord Tyrion?"

"No, my lady. I beg your forgiveness for my rudeness."

"You have it. I did not know about your son. I am sorry."

"As you said we all lost family in that war…some more than others. Good night, my lady."

Some more than others. How many like her could say they had lost a father, a mother, and two brothers, and a sister who she may never find?

She went to the great keep, two of the guards Jon assigned to be with her following her across the courtyard and up the stairs to her rooms, where they would stand watch outside all night.

She had hardly changed into her night clothes when a knock came to her door. "Come," she said. It was one of her guards. "Lord Tyrion wishes to speak to you, my lady."

"Tell him to wait in the solar," she said. She returned to her bedroom and pulled on a warm dark blue robe over her night clothes and then came back.

He was standing by her desk, looking around for something. "My lord?"

"Ah, Sansa, I was just wondering where you are hiding the wine."

"I do not partake very often so I have none here."

"Shame. There was none in my rooms as well."

"I can have a servant bring some."

"No, thank you, " he said. "Perhaps it is better I have no more for there are serious things me must talk on."

"Yes…it is time." She sat behind her desk and he pulled himself up into the chair opposite. She waited and then he sighed.

"So…first, our marriage."

"Should be annulled," she said right away. "For we never…never…"

"Yes, quite so. I think we need a septon for that. But there is the question of your second husband. These bloody septons are so pious they may refuse an annulment, and brand you an outcast for marrying another while still married to me."

"You were branded a traitor who had killed his king and father and fled the kingdoms. No one expected you to ever return."

"Yes…but you were still my wife. Well, maybe we can find a corrupt septon. Enough gold should ease the way if you are intent on ending our union."

"I am. Tell the truth now. You never wanted me for a wife."

"No, sorry to say. My father's idea, to marry me to you and Cersei to Ser Loras, to shore up the faltering allegiances of the kingdoms. And whose idea was it for you to marry Ramsey Bolton? You did not do it for love I am certain."

"For certain. I had little choice. Your sister wanted me dead, I had no place to go. After Lord Baelish took me from the city I needed protection, I couldn't hide in the Vale forever, so…so he arranged for me to marry Ramsey."

"Baelish…did it for his own selfish reasons I am sure."

"Without a doubt. I don't know what…wait," Something was not right. "You are not surprised at this news of Baelish rescuing me from King's Landing?"

Now he blanched and then sighed. "I had not been quite truthful earlier. We have another ally. Theon Greyjoy and his sister and a few dozen ships of ironborn. Theon told us about Baelish rescuing you and giving you to the Boltons."

"Theon is well?"

"He…what? You care for him? I thought you would despise him for what he did to Winterfell."

"He saved me from the Boltons. This girl, close to Ramsey, she was going to hurt me and then Theon…"

"Threw her from the battlements. Yes, he told this tale. I was unsure of its truth."

"It's all true."

"And what of your younger brothers? Word is he killed them but he claims they are alive."

"One is…Brandon. He is at the Wall with Jon now."

"Brandon…the crippled boy?"

"Yes."

"And the other…Rickon I believe?"

"Dead. Killed by Ramsey."

"Gods…I am so sorry."

She felt the pinpricks of tears forming behind her eyes but shrugged them off. "Ramsey has been punished. The gods have him in their hell now I am sure, and I hope he is screaming still."

"Yes…him and my father both."

She had to ask. "Did you kill him?"

"I did."

"Why?"

"He knew I did not kill Joffrey, yet he arranged it so I was found guilty of the crime anyway."

"How…how monstrous. Your own father did this?"

"A father who never wanted me for a son, especially since I killed the woman he loved coming into the world. He used my own stupid statements and hatred for Joffrey plus my marriage to you to produce trumped up charges and lying witnesses that said we plotted to kill Joffrey together."

"Both of us are innocent."

"As I have always thought," Tyrion said. "But who did kill him?"

"I think it was Olenna Tyrell…with Baelish's help."

He stared at her in shock. "Olenna Tyrell…and Baelish?"

"Yes," and then she explained all she knew, about the necklace, and Ser Dontos and all.

"They found his body," Tyrion told her, his face getting angry. "The necklace as well, with traces of the poison still on it. And what role did Baelish play in this mummer's farce?"

"He set it all up," she told him. "All to kill Joffrey, to kill the monster, and make way for the gentle Tommen to rule."

"To kill Joffrey and blame me for the crime, you mean!" he almost shouted.

"I think that was not his plan."

"No…maybe not. But my sweet sister took advantage of it. You had already run away. Her son was not even cold and she was screaming for the guards to seize me." He shook his head in anger. "Baelish. What does that madman want?"

"Me. And the Iron Throne."

"You?" he said in disbelief.

"He claims he loves me. Because of my mother, I am sure, not me."

"Ah, yes, the great love of his life. He thinks you will replace his lost love?"

"Yes…and he told me he wants the Iron Throne as well."

"He will never have it, not now, not with our new Queen and her dragons soon to be here."

"Tyrion…you don't know him the way I do. He will find a way. Already he told us the Vale will support your Queen. Then he will find a way to worm into power like he always does."

"Yes, he does have that gift."

She had to tell him now. "I need your help."

He raised his eyebrows. "Yes? How so?"

She took the key on its string from around her neck, it always on her night and day, and unlocked the desk drawer and took out the letter and handed it to him. He read it and then put it on the desk and looked at her.

"A plot, by my sister, to sow discord in your alliance." He said it as if it was inconsequential.

"I thought so as well. But we could use it…as a way to rid ourselves of him. Couldn't we?"

"With this?" he said and then shook his head and shattered her hopes. "No, this is nothing. He can deny all knowledge of it and how would we prove he did know about it. Has he even seen this letter?"

"No, I have all the raven messages taken to me first, unopened."

"Wise, but in this case it has backfired on you. If he had seen it, and said nothing to you of it, then we could accuse him of plotting. Of course, if he had gotten it first he would have most likely burnt it after reading and now you would not even know what it says, so the point is moot."

She sighed. "I just…I…I am afraid he will do something terrible."

"I am sure he will. Why not just kill him? This is your home, you are the lady of the house. I am sure some of these loyal men will rush to do the deed for you."

"If only. But we need his men. Half of Jon's army is from the Vale, and I know not if the lords will go against me or not. They are all Arryn men, loyal to Robin and his father before …gods…I…" And the memory came back, of the words that were said before she died. She looked at him. "I must tell you something, but you must swear to never tell a soul."

"Agreed."

She hesitated and then spoke in a rush. "I believe Baelish and my Aunt Lysa were the ones that killed Jon Arryn."

Tyrion just stared at her and then his faced contorted into rage. "That fucking cunt!"

The words were loud and she thought he would do something violent. A guard opened the door and looked at her. "My lady? All is well?"

"Yes…I believe Lord Tyrion would like some wine…a whole flagon of our finest red would do, and two cups."

"Aye, my lady."

Tyrion brought himself under control. "Tell me what you know."

She told him all, about the kiss in the snowy courtyard, and the argument by the moon door, and Baelish confronting Lysa, the words they said, him pushing her out the moon door, and how Sansa lied to protect him, and his later threats to say she had done it if she told anyone the truth.

"Now I wish I had told Lord Royce and the others what had really happened."

The wine came and he drank deeply and refilled his cup as she sipped hers. "I almost died because of those two," he finally gasped.

"I am sorry."

"Not your fault. If he wasn't such a worm I might even have thanked Baelish for giving her that shove."

"Is it enough to arrest him?"

"No. He was right. You two are the only witnesses and you have already lied once."

"Gods. He has caused so much pain! There must be something we can hold him for."

Now Tyrion grinned. "There is."

"Tell me."

And so he spoke and when he was done Sansa knew she was right to trust him. She finally felt like her Baelish troubles would soon be over. But first she would write to Jon, when a raven came back, and tell him all Tyrion said. Jon would have to tell Lord Royce and Sansa was certain he would agree. And when the alliance was secure and the King in the North gave the command, they would arrest the worm and put an end to his treachery once and for all.

* * *

 **Castle Black – Jon**

Raven letters arrived at the Wall, reports from Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower, from Winterfell and White Harbor and Deepwood Motte, and Jon read them and spoke to his lords and commanders on what they meant, and what to do, and all the while he was in a fog, half here and half…elsewhere…in a tower in the mountains of Dorne, seeing his mother dying, seeing the man he thought for almost twenty years was his father holding a baby…him… and then it was all gone. Bran refused to show him again. When they got back to the castle he spoke on why.

"You want to talk to them, interact with them. You can't do this."

Jon sighed. "I understand why. I just want to see them again, to see…her."

"I too understand…but I can't chance it. Already I have caused too much damage."

That had been many days ago. All the patrols had come back and there had been no sign of the White Walkers or of his Uncle Benjen. Once the last wildling was through the tunnel Jon nodded to Edd and Edd gave the command for the builders to started closing it. Jon gave them a hundred men to help, and in a short time the tunnel was filled with rocks and ice and frozen shut at its mouth. They worked for two more days and filled in the rest, pouring water from the wells over the works so it would freeze at night. Edd sent word to the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch to do the same.

He spent his hours on the Wall looking north and wondering where the enemy was, but also wondering on how many lies his life had been full of. Could Rhaegar Targaryen be his father? And if so, did that make Jon a…a what? A nothing, he finally concluded. "Still a bastard, still a Snow," he said to himself though he had been born in Dorne so maybe he should be a Sand. He said the name aloud. "Jon Sand," and then he laughed. It was too strange.

Tormund was standing nearby, and looked worried. "When the leader starts talking to himself, the men start wondering about whether his head is on right," he said in his low growl.

"It is," Jon said. "Just…nevermind."

"You haven't been here since your brother took you to the heart tree. What did he show you? Our doom? An army marching on us?"

"No, no," Jon quickly said. "He showed me something of the past…about my father… and mother."

"He can do that? See the past? He has the sight?"

"What?"

"The sight, the old crones call it. Some that say they can see things no man should know."

"Maybe he does," Jon replied. "Just…keep it to yourself."

"Aye. So, what happened to your brother, up north of the Wall? The crows been talking on it, say he faced the Night King, say your long dead uncle saved him from the wights, say two of his companions died, the girl's brother and a big lad from Winterfell."

"All true," Jon said. "They had a rough time."

Tormund looked north and spat over the Wall. "Rough times for all of us soon. All my life I looked at this Wall and thought you were my enemy, you and your kind Jon Snow. When Mance began preaching about going south, to get away from the real enemy, he knew you lot would never believe us. He knew we would have to fight to get south. I knew we would kill crows, and I was glad."

"I am glad you didn't kill this crow."

"Aye. So am I. Now we must be one, fight as one, or all will die." Jon said nothing, knowing he was right. Then Tormund turned around and looked south of the Wall. "A big land the North is. When the war is over I will find a piece of land to call my own and build a home, and fish and hunt and raise sons and daughters."

"You need a woman first."

"I already found her."

Jon chuckled. "I am not sure she returns to affection."

"Then I will steal her in the night."

"What?"

"Our way. A man must fight for the woman he wants. He takes her in the night from her father and brothers. Like you took Ygritte."

Jon felt a stab of sadness at the mention of her name. "I…I didn't take Ygritte. She was my prisoner. I…yes, maybe I did take her."

"You took her or she never would have been with you. So, where does this Brienne live?"

"A land called Tarth, very far south, an island in the sea. But now she is mostly likely at Winterfell."

"Then when the fighting is done I will steal her from Winterfell," Tormund said with a wolfish grin.

"She'll likely claw your eyes out."

He laughed. "That is half the fun of taking a woman."

Just then a man of the Watch came to the top of the Wall. "Message from Winterfell," he said. Jon thanked him, took the message and read.

Jon read it and could not believe it. From Sansa, about Tyrion Lannister…and Daenerys Targaryen.

He called the commanders to the dining hall. "My sister says Tyrion Lannister is in White Harbor and will soon be on his way to Winterfell." Still he called her sister though he knew she was not.

"The Imp?" said Lord Royce, his disgust clear on his face. "Kingslayer and kinslayer, he is. A drunken lecherous little dwarf. They forced your sister to marry him, Your Grace. She is now free of him and so should we. We should have nothing to do with him."

Others voiced their agreements, but Lady Mormont had a different opinion. "Maybe we should thank him, my lords. He did kill Joffrey and Tywin Lannister, two of our enemies."

Jon almost grinned at that. "Maybe so, my lady. But there is more. Lord Tyrion claims he is representing Daenerys Targaryen and that she is now in Lys with a fleet, an army, and three dragons."

That brought a babble of talk, with some scoffing that dragons weren't real, and others saying they heard stories of her and her dragons and they were real.

Jon called for order and they went silent. "My sister asks for advice, my lords."

Lord Glover spoke. "Near on twenty years ago I was of an age as you are now, Your Grace. I rode with your father and my father and brothers and Lord Manderly and his kin and many more against Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. We smashed her brother's army, Robert killed him, and we hunted down her family. We will be her enemy. As for the Imp, I agree with Lord Royce. The Imp is a Lannister first, no matter who he killed. I say thrown him in a dungeon. Or hang him."

Lord Manderly differed in his opinion. "Aye, we fought against her family many years ago and maybe those old wounds have not healed. Maybe she will want vengeance. But she will want the Iron Throne above all. I say let her have it, as long as she holds no grudges and grievances against those who fought her family. Better her than a Lannister on the Iron Throne."

Her family, they said. My family as well, Jon now knew. And then Lady Mormont spoke again. "Dragons breath fire and fire kills the wights, my lords. We need those dragons here, on the Wall."

"Aye, if they are real," said one of Lord Glover's men.

Then Tormund spoke and hit the heart of the matter. "You know nothing, of what she wants or what she has."

"Aye," said Jon. "We need to know her intentions first."

"Maybe she needs allies," suggested a Vale lord. "Maybe she wants our help in finishing off the Lannisters."

"We will stay here," Jon said. "No matter what is happening in the south this is our place to defend."

All agreed with that. Then Lord Royce spoke once more. "If she is against the Lannisters, she will soon be siding with the Reach and Dorne. Both sided with her family in Robert's Rebellion. And both hate the Lannisters so very much. Your Grace, we should tell Lady Sansa to speak to the Imp. See what he says first and then have her report to us."

"And then throw him in a dungeon," Lord Glover said and many laughed at that. But Jon wasn't laughing. This changed things. How he was as yet uncertain.

Jon went off to the rookery, wrote a reply to Sansa, and then told the maester to send the message at first light when the raven for Winterfell was rested and fed.

He found Bran in his room, in bed, reading a book on the history of the Wall and the Watch. Meera was washing some clothes in a basin of warm water that rested nearby the hearth. "I will get someone to help you," Jon offered.

"No, thank you, Your Grace. I want no men in here I do not know."

Jon knew why. Edd had told him of what nearly happened to her at Crastor's Keep. "No one will harm you," he said. "You have my word."

"Your word I trust," she said as she hung a pair of breeches over a chair's back to dry by the hearth. "The rest I don't. I am the only woman here not a wildling. Maybe that gives your brave men of the Watch ideas."

He knew she was right so he dropped it. He sat in another chair by Bran's bed. "Find anything that could help us?"

"Not yet," Bran said as he put the book down.

"You said the White Walkers were once men, that the Children of the Forest made them."

"Yes."

"Maybe they could unmake them."

Bran shook his head. "If so they would have done so long ago."

"Aye," Jon replied, knowing this but he had to ask. "Did they tell you anything more? Anything that could help us defeat them?"

"No."

"Did the Three Eyed Raven tell you anything that could help us?

"I told you all he said, all they said, and now they are all dead. I need to find a weirwood."

"Why? Thought you were all done with that."

"No, I never said that. I said I wouldn't take you anymore. Now the tunnel is closed."

"You know why I had to do that."

"I need to find another one."

Jon leaned forward and looked at him and spoke quietly. "Bran…what's it all about? Why are you having these visions? Why did the Three Eyed Raven show you about Winterfell, and our…Lord Stark, and my mother?"

"I don't know. That's why I have to find a weirwood. I am supposed to do something, to be here. I just know it. I have to find out why."

Jon nodded. "I will ask Tormund to send some of his people out in the nearby forests. Maybe they can find one."

"I doubt it," he replied. "The Watch has been here forever. If there was a weirwood near here, on the south side, why did you have to go to the one north of the Wall to say your vows?"

"Aye, you have a point. Bran…I cannot unblock the tunnel."

"Then I will never know what it is all about."

Meera had been listening in the background the whole time. "Maybe you already do know," she said.

"But I don't," Bran said in frustration.

She sat on the bed on the other side and took his hand. "Bran…think. Of all the places he could have taken you, could have shown you, he showed you your father and Jon's mother and Jon's birth. There has to be a reason for it."

Bran shook his head. "I don't know! All we learned is that my father is not Jon's father, that Aunt Lyanna is his mother, and that Rhaegar Targaryen maybe his father."

Jon knew it was time to tell them. "A Targaryen is coming."

Meera gave him a strange look. "What are you talking about?"

"This," he said and he took out Sansa's letter about Tyrion Lannister and Daenerys Targaryen. Meera read it aloud and looked at him again.

"She is coming to Westeros…with three dragons?"

"Aye. So we think."

"Jon," Bran said. "She is your aunt."

"Possibly. If Rhaegar was my father."

"He has to be," said Meera. "Why would those two Kingsguard have been there? My father never answered Jojen when he asked that question after he told the story of the fight. Only the King or the Prince could have ordered them there, Jojen said to me once. Aerys had no reason to send them there. It had to be Rhaegar, to protect the woman he loved, to…"

"Loved?" Jon said in anger. "He kidnapped her, raped her! My mother!"

"Did he?" Bran asked, in a calm voice.

Jon could only gape at him. "What do you mean?"

"Maybe the stories were all false," Bran said. "All of it. Maybe he never kidnapped her. Maybe she went with him. Maybe they were in love. Tell him."

Meera spoke. "My father said it once, after Lord Stark died. He wept, and told us to go north to find Bran, to help him, like Jojen had been asking. Then he spoke on those days. He was at the tournament in Harrenhal when your father and mother first met. He saw the way Lyanna looked at Rhaegar, and he at her. He said what he believed. Maybe it was love after all."

Jon did not know what to believe. It was all too raw, too new, for him to straighten out in his head. But maybe Meera was right about one thing. Maybe there was a connection between Jon and Bran's visions.

He stood. "Keep reading," was all he said and he left them.

Back in his rooms he sat by his fire with a cup of wine and wondered on it all, and knew one person who could maybe make sense of it. He wished Sam was here.

And then he went to his desk and took the longest strip of parchment he could find, and began to write, in very small letters, and wrote all that had happened, and what he think might happen, and then when the ink dried he rolled it up tight, sealed it with wax and went to the rookery and told them to send it to the Citadel in Oldtown at first light. He just hoped Sam had made it there.

* * *

 **Oldtown – Samwell**

Sam's mother and sister arrived unexpectedly, after he wrote to Horn Hill to tell her he and Gilly and baby Sam were well and where they were and thank you for the invitation but we will stay here in Oldtown, together. A week and a half later when he came home after training and reading old records all day they were there, in the little apartment above the pub.

"Sam, pack your things," his mother said after a hug and a kiss. "You are moving. You are a Tarly of Horn Hill, and this will not do at all."

He wanted to protest, and say he was a man of the Watch and had no family but his brothers in the Watch, but he knew she was right. The place was small and dingy and noisy. Gilly had lived in worse, but he wanted her to be safe and have nice things, too.

"Yes, mother," was all he said. A short time later they were across town, in the better part of town, and his mother was using a key to open a set of rooms on the second floor of a nice building. Six rooms there were, three bedrooms, a big kitchen, a sitting room, and a bathroom. They even had a big bathtub. The place was already furnished.

"There," said his mother as she and his sister went around opening up windows to air the place out.

"Whose house is this?" Gilly asked, looking in awe at the nice tapestries on the walls and the lovely furniture.

"Yours, now, my dear," Sam's mother said with a smile. "I bought it from one of my cousins, whose husband died in the wars and she has now returned to her father's house. She said this place had too many memories of him. Let us hope we make some good ones of our own. Oh, baby Sam looks tired. You just settle in, dear. Sam, come with me to the market."

They helped them move in and then they stayed, refusing to go back to Horn Hill, and Sam was happy for Gilly was not alone, and she was happy to have people help her, and his mother and sister were happy, for they could spend time with family. A few days later three people arrived from Horn Hill to help, a cook, a maid, and a guard, who shared a smaller set of rooms in a nearby building. Sam knew his mother had spent a lot on this, and when he worried what their father would say when the castellan of Horn Hill showed him the expenditures she said not to worry, that was her problem to deal with later.

With help here Sam found he could relax more and spend more hours at the Citadel to dig deeper into the records of the maesters of Castle Black. The only trouble was they were poorly organized, as far as Sam was concerned, organized by year, not by subject matter. Each maester sent yearly reports, of things that happened at the Wall, of men who died, of wildling attacks, of weather conditions, and so on. To find out anything about the White Walkers, he would have to look through each one year by year. Some were just one page, while others were many. And when he asked the aged archmaesters if there were any books on the subject of the White Walkers and the ancient wars, none could help him.

"They are afraid to help you," said a voice one day from behind the book shelves in the library. Sam looked around the side of the tall book shelf and saw in the next aisle over a short, squat man, with a huge head and jaw, dark of hair and eye, and with massive hands holding a tiny book. He wore a leather jerkin and breeches, not the grey robes of a maester, but he had a maester's chain with many links.

"I am Sam Tarly," he said. He had never seen or met the man before.

"I know who you are," the man said in a deep, gravely voice. "Come to the Isle of Ravens after dark. You take the bridge across the Honeywine River. The west tower, below the white raven rookery." He put the book back on the shelf and started to walk away.

"Wait!" He stopped, looked at Sam. "Who is afraid?"

"The grey sheep, that's who."

"The maesters? Afraid of what?"

"What you will discover. Remember, the west tower. After dark."

"Wait! Who are you?" Sam shouted, but he kept walking.

All the rest of the day Sam could not keep his mind on his studies. He was learning about the human body today, and that made it even worse, for he was always squeamish thinking about blood and guts. The archmaester pointed out organs on a very old painting of the insides of the human body that hung on the wall, while the novices sat at small desks with quill and parchment and ink making notes and drawing body parts. In large glass jars around the room were human organs in pickling solutions, which the archmaester passed around as he spoke. At least they didn't have any dead bodies around. Sam had seen enough of them to last a lifetime.

"Death comes to all, eventually," the archmaester was saying as the lesson was ending. "Your job will be to slow it, stop it, and heal those in your charge. You will learn to stop bleeding, suture wounds, set broken limbs, stop corruption, and, if need be, amputate limbs. You will all spend several months in the local healing houses. If you haven't got the stomach for it, you have no business being a maester."

Sam didn't have the stomach for it, despite having some experience helping wounded men at the Wall, and he worried on this. Maesters were healers, but how could you heal if the sight of blood made you sick and you were afraid of hurting or killing someone with the cure?

Night came and his lessons ended, and he made his way to the Isle of Ravens and the west tower of the ancient fortress there. High he climbed to the top, the quorking of the ravens in the rookery above getting louder, and there on landing the man was waiting for him, holding a lantern.

"Inside," he said as he stood in an open doorway. "Quick."

The large round room was filled with scrolls and books, some on tables, some on the floor, more on bookcases. Maps and tapestries filled the wall spaces between bookcases, and a warm fire was burning in the hearth. But the strangest thing of all was in the middle of the room on a pedestal of sorts was a tall black candle with a flame that did not flicker and threw off strange light. Sam kept staring at it.

"Of Old Valyria," the archmaester said, for Sam knew he had to be at least of that rank. "The dragon lords used them to communicate across great distances, to talk, to enter a person's dreams and give them visions, to tell them what they needed to know."

Sam reached out and touched the candle's base. "Obsidian. Dragonglass."

"Yes."

"I killed a White Walker with a dragonglass dagger."

"So I have heard. Tell me about it."

Sam turned to the man. "Who are you?"

"Archmaester Marwyn. Sit, and talk."

Sam sat in a deep armchair and Archmaester Marwyn sat in one opposite and for an hour Sam talked on all that had happened at the Wall, the battles, and his adventures, and he even found himself explaining about Gilly and the baby not being his. After he said it he was aghast.

"Not to worry, your secret is safe," Marwyn said.

"Thank you."

"The rest wouldn't understand such a thing as a man protecting a girl and her baby, especially if it was not his. Many of their hearts turn to stone when they put on their chains. But they still fear."

"What do they fear?"

"All you know and talked on. White Walkers, wights, dragonglass…these things have no place in the world they are trying to build, a world built on reason and sanity…not magic…or dragons. Do you know who has dragons?"

"Daenerys Targaryen."

"Yes. She is coming, soon. Maybe she is the one we have been waiting for, the Prince …or Princess…That Was Promised."

"Sorry?"

"You don't know the prophecy?"

"No."

"Over a thousand years ago a prophecy was written, by who is lost to time. It stated that a great hero would be reborn, born of salt and smoke. Some believe he will be a reincarnation of Azor Ahai. I trust you know who he is."

Sam did and now he got excited, and spoke in a rush. "He and Brandon the Builder defeated the White Walkers eight thousand years ago."

"So the legends say. They fought the enemy and defeated them, built the Wall, and created the Night's Watch. It is even thought Azor Ahai was the first Lord Commander."

"No one knows who the first Lord Commander was."

"But you count them, do you not? Was not your friend Snow named 998th commander?"

"He was."

"So there must have been a first. Maybe Azor Ahai. No matter. Do you know the story of his sword?"

"Lightbringer. He killed his own wife by tempering its steel in the blood of her heart."

"Yes. But where is Lightbringer now?"

"Stannis' men bragged he had it."

"This red woman, Melisandre. You said she said Stannis Baratheon was the hero who would save the realms of men. He is dead now and his sword could not save him or the realms of men. It was no more magic than any common blade. Think, Tarly. Does anyone have a blade with any special power?"

"Jon's blade killed a White Walker at Hardhome. It is made of Valyrian steel. I read in a book at Castle Black that what the old maesters called dragonsteel could kill the Walkers. Is dragonsteel the same as Valyrian steel?"

"Dragonsteel is the old name for Valyrian steel. Some say the swordsmiths of Old Valyria made Valyrian steel by soaking it in the blood of dead slaves with the metal still hot. That is why the blade feels alive in one's hand. Tell me, Tarly, where did Snow get this sword?"

"Longclaw its called. It came from the Mormont family of Bear Island. It was Lord Commander Jeor Mormont that gave it to Jon. It was supposed to go to his son, Jorah, but he was in exile for selling some men into slavery."

"Strange he would just give Snow this sword that belonged to his family."

"Well, it was a gift after Jon saved him from those two wights I told you about."

"Yes, two dead men come back to life with blue eyes." He was quiet for a moment and then grunted. "Let us put aside the sword for now. The other part of the legend says that the hero reborn would come from the blood of the dragons."

"Do you mean the Targaryen family?"

"Yes. So is it Daenerys or not? The legend also says it is to be a man. But prophecy is like a fog on a windy day, full and with substance one moment and gone the next."

"Are there no other Targaryens?"

"No. She and Maester Aemon were the last and now he is dead. Some of the Baratheon family has their blood, through the female line, and some on Dragonstone have their blood, but in both cases it is old and diluted. She is the last pureblood Targaryen."

Without another word he stood and then he grabbed a backpack and began to shove clothes into. He wrapped some bread and sausages that were on a table in a cloth and shoved them inside as well, and took a skin of wine from the table. By the door was a stout walking stick and a leather cloak which he put on.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, worried that he was losing the only man that listened to him and believed him.

"To find her," Marwyn said as he picked up his walking stick

"No one knows where she is now."

"They were talking of it yesterday, the grey sheep. They said she was in Lys. But that was some time ago. Soon she will make landfall in Westeros. The Stormlands if she is smart. That is where I will go."

"And do what?"

Marwyn grunted. "To tell her all you said, and point her on the true path. If she is the one that was promised, she must go north, with her dragons and army." He opened the door.

"But it is nighttime now."

"The best way to leave, unseen," he said and looked ready to go but then he stopped, stepped back inside and closed the door. "Tarly. You study, make your chain, prepare for what is to come. You say nothing more of the Walkers or wights or any of what we talked on."

"I need your help," Sam pleaded. "I must convince the other archmaesters to help as well."

"No. They will never agree…and one morning they will find you face down in the river. Or worse."

"What?" Sam said in shock.

"They have done it before." Then he looked at the candle. "If you need me, just look into the candle's flame, say my name, and think on me. Make sure it is at night, when I am most likely alone."

"I should take it to my home."

"No, leave it here. And don't try to blow out the flame. I have had it for sixteen years and it has never gone out." He dug into his pocket and gave Sam a key. "Lock the door when you leave." And then he was gone.

Sam stood there in awe of the man, so blunt and forceful and full of energy. He did not know what to do, and then realized it was late and so he should go home. He took one last look at the candle and then left and locked the door.

As he walked through the streets of Oldtown his mind was awhirl with what he saw and heard and he tried to make sense of it all. He needed time to think, but when he got home there would be no peace.

His mother was at the table, crying, his sister as well. Gilly was making tea and was just serving it when Sam came in. His mother looked up, her eyes full of tears.

"Sam, oh Sam…my boy…" but she could say no more and wept again.

"What's happen? What's the matter?" he asked in fear.

"There has been a fight," Gilly said.

His sister was less weepy, and handed him a raven message. "From Lord Caswell at Bitterbridge," she said. "A rider just delivered it from Horn Hill an hour ago."

Sam took it and read. " _A great battle took place on the Blackwater two days ago. Our forces were defeated and the remnants retreated to Tumbleton. It grieves me to inform you my lady that your husband Lord Randyll and son Dickon are both missing. They were last seen in the vanguard, trying to rally the men, before our ranks broke. As yet we have not heard from the Lannisters concerning prisoners, but they may very well be alive and well._ "

The rest was just Lord Caswell promising to send word when he learned any news. Many thoughts went through Sam's head, but not of his father or brother. He thought on when the battle took place. More than a week ago at least, for the news to get here in this manner. Strange the news had not yet reached Oldtown…or it had and the maesters cared not enough to tell Sam this news.

Sam sat and hugged his mother. "They are gone, both gone," she wailed.

"They could be prisoners," Sam said in a reassuring voice as Gilly pour him a cup of tea and sat with them. "We must pray they are well."

"If they live they will be prisoners of the Lannisters," his sister said, anger now in her voice. "What ransom will they want for their return? Half our lands and gold and our father's promise to take part in no more of this war?"

"We will pay if we must," said Sam's mother.

"Yes, we will pay," he said.

"Sam, you must become head of the house now," his mother said, a desperate tone in her voice. "You must leave the Watch and the Citadel and come home to settle all this."

"Mother…I …I am a man of the Watch. I took an oath. They will kill me if I desert."

"What is an oath compared to your family in its hour of need?" she asked.

Sam had many objections on his tongue but he only said what needed to be said. "We are getting ahead of ourselves. We must wait word on what happened to them."

His mother nodded. "Yes, of course, we must wait."

Sam took his tea and sipped some, and as they continued talking, his mind still did not dwell on his father and brother and the lost battle so much as the other thing. He kept going back to Archmaester Marwyn and his mad plan to find Daenerys Targaryen. She was coming, he said, and she needed to go north. But where was she?


	5. Chapter 5

**Game of Thrones Season 7 Chapter 5**

 **The Step Stones – Theon**

"It's the _Silence_ ," Yara said, as they spied the ships looming ahead of them in the growing darkness. The _Silence_ was their uncle Euron's flagship, long and sleek with a dark red hull and black flag with their golden kraken family sigil emblazoned on it.

A man from the crow's nest shouted down. "I count forty ships, captain! Port and starboard."

"Prepare for battle!" she yelled to her crew and they leaped to the tasks they knew by heart. Men loaded the bow catapult with an oil soaked weighted ball of hemp. Others took bows and quivers and manned the railings. Many more put on armor and took up swords and axes and heavy maces. Yara gave no orders to the other captains with signal flags. Each knew his duty was to ram or bring his ship alongside another, attack it, capture it, or sink it.

Theon was already dressed for battle, and reached for the sword at his side, feeling the grip. With only four whole fingers on his right hand now it was not as easy to wield, but he would not stay out of the fight. He had to prove he had salt and iron for blood, that he was ironborn, and not some craven who cringed at shadows, like the creature he had become. But battle would not be easy for him. His left foot was maimed as well, making it difficult to walk, and his other wounds had made him not a man any more.

The pain had been terrible, but the mental anguish was worse, and he prayed for death even as the Bolton maester healed the wounds. Maim and heal, that was the Bolton way, so you lived longer and suffered more. How often he had asked for death to come for him in those dark days. At the same time, Ramsey would ease his pain at times, leave him be for long stretches, and Theon gradually learned to obey, to do as he was asked without question. He was a broken man, in body and spirit, so much that when his sister tried to rescue him he was paralyzed with fear, fear of what Ramsey would do if he caught them.

Now he was free of his tormentor, and he was dead, but Theon knew he would never be wholly free of Ramsey. He had left his mark on him in more ways than one. Theon had tried to redeem himself for his failings. He had saved Sansa, he had returned home, he had supported his sister, and now he stood the deck of a warship. But his heart was weak, and he needed drink to even face the world each day. The men of the ship and fleet ignored him and scoffed at him, and they all knew of his wounds, and his lacking of the parts that made a man a man. He would never love a woman again, never father children, never be whole again.

Yara knew what ate at his soul. "I don't have a cock and I have been making women scream with pleasure for years," she said when in Lys. "You still have a mouth and tongue and fingers. Come with me." She ignored the Queen's order to not step ashore and she took Theon to a Lyseni house of pleasure. He ached when he saw how beautiful the girls were, and Yara could only stare at them as well.

"Take your pick," she said. "Except that one. She's mine." She talked to the proprietress, paid the coin, and she took her choice upstairs to the private rooms. Theon hadn't known of his sister's preference for women, being gone from the Iron Islands when she grew to be a woman. He did not know until her heard stories from her men when they sailed east from the islands towards Meereen. He did not believe it at first. And then he saw it with his own eyes, at Volantis, as she tasted one of the women in that whore house. Her crew seemed indifferent to her desires, and Theon wondered if his father had known as well and was as equally indifferent.

He stood there, staring at the girls, and then a voice whispered in his ear. It was the proprietress, an older woman, maybe in her forties, but still lovely. "Do not be shy. Take your pick. All are lovely, are they not?"

"Aye…but…but…"

"Not to worry. Your sister told me. We cater to all men and women here, those whole and those not, and do not judge." She wiggled her fingers at a tall woman with a shapely form and long silvery hair and lavender eyes. She spoke quietly to the girl and then the girl came to Theon's side. "Angelique I am called. I am yours. For one hour."

"Enjoy," the proprietress said.

He did enjoy, and made the girl cry with pleasure, but still it was not enough, and only made him miss what he no longer had even more.

Now it was time for battle, and Theon prayed for only one thing…death. If he managed to take his cursed Uncle Euron to the Drowned God's watery hall then he would died satisfied.

Suddenly fire loomed out of the growing darkness. For a moment he thought it was the Queen on her dragon, and maybe the chance to die in battle would be snatched from him. But it was the enemy, flinging balls of burning hemp at them, too soon, for the balls fell short and sizzled and died as they sank in the cold sea. The crew cheered and Yara laughed.

"Our uncle shoots too soon!" she shouted and the crew laughed more at her double meaning.

"Has a man ever shot too soon on your belly, captain?" one grizzled veteran asked. He was tall and with a red beard and a long scar on his right cheek.

"Aye," she said. "The first boy I ever let in my breeches. The first…and the last." That brought more laughter. They loved her, he knew, a love he could never inspire, and he would not even try.

"Here, my lord, drink this," said the old veteran as he handed Theon a leather wine skin. "Black tar rum. Better than that piss water ale you quaff every day."

Theon took it and drank deeply and let the fiery liquid wash down to his belly and fill him with warmth. He handed it back and the old man drank as well.

"What is your name, sailor?" Theon asked.

"Hagmar Pyke," he said.

"A bastard?" Pyke was the name they gave bastard children in the islands, like Snow in the North.

"Aye, my lord. I never knew my father, and my mother was a thrall. But I was born on the islands, and have salt and iron for blood as much as you."

"Good. Then let us go show my traitorous uncle the truth of that," Theon said. They stood by the railing, behind the bowmen, waiting for the word.

"Light!...Fire!" Yara yelled and the bow catapult's hemp ball was set on fire and launched into the air. High it flew in an arc, and the crew gave a cheer as it hit a sail in the opposite fleet and the sail caught fire, but it was not their uncle's ship. Now more balls of fire flew back and forth, some hitting home, more hitting the sea and disappearing under the cold waters.

Round the deck some men were dumping buckets of sand and spreading it and others were standing by full buckets of more sand.

Hagmar saw Theon looking. "The sand absorbs the blood of battle, and gives us a better footing underneath. Also better for putting out oil fires. Water will just spread it more."

Theon nodded. He had never fought in a battle at sea. All his fights had been on horseback, on the greenlands.

"Just mind your footing when we go over," Hagmar said in a quiet voice. "You don't want to fall between the galleys. Then you'll have a quick trip to the Drowned God's watery hall."

Suddenly a ball of fire hit the deck behind them and two men were doused with oil and fire. They screamed as more ironmen quickly poured sand on the men and the fire and in a few moments it was out.

"Get them below!" Yara yelled and more men carried the wounded below. Theon felt his mouth go dry at the sight of the screaming burnt men. Hagmar saw the look on his face and handed him the rum.

"Not a way for a man to die," Hagmar said as Theon drank. He looked around the fleet and saw more ships on fire, one badly burning, and from its deck men were already leaping into the sea. "Better to drown than burn," Hagmar said.

"Faster!" Yara yelled and the drums below beat faster and the oars sliced through the water. "Faster!"

Now the balls of fire were going over their ships, them being under the minimum distance the catapults could range. Now it would be ramming, and arrows, and steel, and blood.

Yara yelled for the helmsman to steer five points to starboard. The scene was well lit, with the burning ships, and now the clouds parted and revealed a half moon that gave more light to the scene. The noise was building, the sounds of shouts, and cries and screams, beating drums, men yelling for courage.

And then Theon remembered something. "Ironborn should not spill ironborn blood."

"Aye, we shouldn't," Hagmar said. "But piss on that. Euron killed your father, stole the crown. The _Silence_ she is aiming for."

Arrows now flew between the ships, some fire, some not, and a few found their mark. A man in front of Theon gave a grunt and spun backwards with an arrow in his throat. Theon stepped back as the man fell, and thought to pick up his bow, the bow being his best weapon, but he wanted to prove he was a man, and he could only do that by coming to grips with the enemy face to face. And he could best die that way as well.

It would be soon, the ships moving faster, and there was the _Silence_ , looming in front of them. Men along the port side gripped grappling hooks, ready to throw them over to join the ships together after they rammed…no, there would be no ramming, the _Silence_ swinging to their left at the last moment, avoiding the _Black Wind_ 's ram.

"Ship oars!" Yara shouted and the command was passed below, and all the oars were shipped in…and there was the enemy, not twenty feet away, ten, five…

"Grappling hooks!" Yara yelled and the ropes and hooks flung out from both ships, gripped tight and they were pulled together.

"NOW!" Hagmar yelled. "Iron and blood!"

"Iron and blood!" the crew yelled and then they were leaping over, Theon with them. Yara's crew jumped faster and leaped down on men trying to leap up, and had the advantage of momentum. Swords swung, axes cut into flesh, maces crushed skulls, and flesh was pierced by spear and arrow and bolt.

Theon stumbled, fell to the _Silence_ 's deck and looked up as a large dark skinned man loomed over him, a sword ready to cut him in two. But the man grunted, and fell back as blood erupted from his side as a sword sliced through his weak leather armor.

"Get up!" Hagmar yelled at him as the old warrior looked for another target. All over the ship it was chaos, as the ironborn grappled with the _Silence_ 's crew. They were a motley bunch, a mix of races from the east, wearing strange armor and with a mix of weapons. They fought without a sound, no screams or battle cries, just grunts and guttural sounds as they died. The ironborn shouted their battle words and screamed when cut down. Theon fought and killed men, and cut the arm off of one, and took a sharp blow to his back armor but it did not penetrate and he turned and stabbed a man in the throat and he collapsed to the deck. The battle madness was on him now, same as it had been in the Whispering Woods, and he screamed with the rest of the crew.

"IRON AND BLOOD!"

They were winning, the amidships deck theirs, and now Theon looked for his sister, and there she was with ten men surging towards the stern. "WHERE IS EURON GREYJOY?" she cried. But no one answered.

In a few more moments and all the upper part of the ship was theirs, the crew on deck dead, and now the ironborn surged below to root out the rest.

"Where is he?" Yara screamed again. But everywhere they looked they could not find their uncle. The few of his crew which had surrendered had no tongues and could tell them nothing.

"Cut their throats and give them to the Drowned God," Yara commanded and soon it was done.

Only now did Theon look around and notice the rest of the battle. Ships were on fire, cries came from the water as men were pulled under, and high above…were dragons.

Their screeches filled the air and Theon looked on in wonder as the three dragons flew across the battle and belched flame on ships below.

"'Tis a wondrous and terrible beast," Hagmar said. "Thank the Drowned God they are on our side."

"Are they?" another crewman asked. "That's Wulfric's ship they are attacking!"

Theon could see a ship nearby catch a blast of dragon fire, and men leaped into to the sea to avoid the flame.

Yara cursed. "They cannot tell friend from foe! She must get control of them or we are all doomed!"

Then came an ear piercing blast of noise, coming from afar, but strong, and loud, and it made their ears hurt. Suddenly the dragons above wheeled in unison and flew off towards a small islet…and in the glow of flames and moonlight Theon could see them circle once, and then dip their wings and one by one drop down to the islet below.

* * *

 **The Step Stones – Daenerys**

She knew she should not fly into the battle, but Viserion and Rhaegal gave her no choice. On the decks of the ships they were on there were no chains to hold them, for no one dared get near enough to put the chains on them. They were smaller also, and followed the lead of their bigger companion Drogon. But now as the battle was joined they eagerly leaped into the sky to join the fray. Drogon impatiently struggled against his chains to join them and then when he began to spurt small bursts of flame towards the ship's deck and its sails everyone yelled for her to let him loose.

"Take care, Your Grace!" Varys shouted as she and her dragon surged into the sky. High above she could see the battle clearly and the moonlight gave them enough light to see by, and its reflection off the ocean gave her a reference point. Yet it seemed she did not need it, for her dragons flew as well in darkness as in daylight. Wheeling and turning they came up along beside Drogon, the three now in formation. Dany could see the two groups of ships below getting closer, and now some were on fire. Down they went to attack the rear of the enemy fleet. She pick out the largest ship, hoping it was Euron Greyjoy's, and screamed, "DRACARYS!"

Three long gouts of flame belched towards the ship and engulfed it and turned it into a funeral pyre for those on board. Small forms covered in flame leaped into the water. From other ships came curses and yells and as her dragons got lower some arrows and bolts flew up at them but none found their mark.

Three more ships they set aflame, and then the two formations were intermingled, ships ramming each other, crews surging across decks to grapple with the enemy, and she could no longer tell friend from foe.

But her dragons did not care, and down they went, the battle lust seemingly on them, and though Dany screamed for them to stop they burned more ships. She began to despair, and try to fly them away from the battle, when above the sounds below came another sound, an ear piercing blast of something that sounded like a horn, a long wailing tone that carried on the wind from somewhere.

In a moment all three dragons turned, and flew on towards a small piece of land, an islet, far behind the enemy fleet…and they began to drop down towards the ground, circling and no matter what Dany shouted they would not change course.

Now below she could see fires, and men, and in a small cove on the far side of the small islet were three ships. The noise was louder now, the sound of a horn she now knew, and then her dragons were flying over a stretch of land just above a beach.

Then Drogon did the unthinkable. He began to twist and shake and turn and then flew nearly upside down. Dany screamed, tried to right him, but he would not, and she lost her grip and was falling, falling, falling…into water, cold water that engulfed her and she thought she would drowned, but in mere seconds she touched bottom, kicked hard and came up, gasping for air. She twisted around and saw the fires on the beach and swam that way, her long boots heavy as they filled with water, but then she could touch bottom and began to walk to shore.

Already her three dragons had landed, and were sitting there in a row, with men around them…and they did not attack the men, did nothing, but sit there. She sat on the beach and pulled off her boots, and drained the water from them and was pulling them back on when from the group of men came one who was tall, and bearded, with the look of the Greyjoys.

"Your Grace," he said with a mock bow. "Welcome to my little kingdom. I am Euron Greyjoy."

She stood and ignored him. "DRACRAYS!" she shouted to her children…but nothing happened.

"An interesting word," Euron said. "Meant to produce their flame from your dragons. And now they are mine."

"They will never obey you. These are my dragons! They only obey me!"

"Did only obey you. Now they obey me."

"I am their mother!"

"And I am their master! You know nothing of dragon lore, Daenerys Stormborn! I have walked the lands of Valyria, have delved into the lore of the east, have spoken to men of Asshai where dragons first hatched thousands of years ago. I learned the secret of making a dragon obey you. I know all the commands. Now they will obey me and me alone."

She felt weak all over. "I am their mother," she said again, but this time with less conviction.

He smiled. "And soon you will be my wife. When my dragons crush the Lannister pretender in King's Landing and I sit the Iron Throne, you will be by my side as my bride."

He was mad with the lust for power she saw, a sickness her brother Viserys had as well. "I will never be your bride."

Euron grunted. "Then you are not much use to me. You will obey and do as I command, or I will give you to my men for their pleasure. When they are done and your body and soul are broken I will cut your throat and give you to the Drowned God."

She was not afraid, had faced much worse in the east. And she had friends nearby. "Those men out there, that fleet of mine, will not stop until I am saved and you are dead."

"They will soon be mine. After I set a few on fire, the rest will surrender and obey. Except my niece and nephew. I know they are with you. Them I will give to the Drowned God. Take her."

Two men, ironborn by their look and clothing, moved to grab her by the arms but she jerked away from them. "I can walk."

"Then walk," Euron said.

Up the beach they moved, to higher ground nearby some trees and what looked like a rocky outcropping. The islet was small, and now they stood on its highest point, and on the far side she could see the cove and the three galleys she had spied from the air. She almost tripped over a man lying on the ground, seemingly dead, and nearby him was a great black horn, with golden bands and inscriptions, resting on a stand of wood. The horn looked like it had been on fire, for smoke was rising from it, and all the inscriptions were aglow.

"A dragon horn," Euron said when he saw her looking at it. "Found in the ruins of Old Valyria. A man of Asshai told me what the inscriptions say and how to use it. It has bound the dragons to me."

"You did not blow the horn," Dany now guessed, for the dead man on the ground seemed as if his flesh was burnt.

"No, to blow it is to die. But the horn is mine, I am its master and the dragons are mine. Look. See how docile they are. I will ride them into battle and soon the fleet will also be mine. Then we sail for King's Landing. Now watch as I prove I am their master."

Dany watched, and prayed he would make the mistake she hoped he would make. Three dragons she had. Three choices…but if he was the man he claimed to be, he would choose the biggest and strongest for himself. Unless he knew the truth or if the horn truly made them his, in all ways. Maybe they were, for Drogon had shaken her off, into the water. A dragon could only have one rider, and would take no other, unless the first rider was dead. She prayed he did not know that piece of dragon lore. No…he did not, or she would already be dead. He wanted her for his bride. If he knew, he would pick Viserion or Rhaegal…unless he did not know Drogon was hers.

He paused in front of Viserion. "Its name?" he asked.

Why not? "Viserion, for my brother Viserys. The green is Rhaegal for my brother Rhaegar. The black is Drogon for my late husband Khal Drogo."

"Which do you ride?" he asked.

"Rhaegal," she lied.

He knew it and gave her a baleful glare. "You ride Drogon. We saw you fall from its back." He pulled out a sword and approached her. "I am no fool Daenerys Stormborn. I know each dragon can have only one rider while that rider lives. If I kill you Drogon will be mine, totally." He held the sword at her throat, pulled it back, and then laughed. All his men laughed as well. "No, I have another sword for you, my bride to be. It will make you scream as well, but in pleasure."

He put away his sword and approached Rhaegal. "He will be mine. Your brother was called the last dragon. A great warrior he was, so it is fitting a dragon is named for him."

Dany held her breath as he moved past the head and behind the left wing of Rhaegal. He reached up and grabbed a protruding spiky spine, and pulled himself up and sat on the back, all his men also seeming to hold their breath as well, all looking at him…and Dany knew this was her only chance. She leaped for the great horn, put her lips to the mouthpiece at the end, and blew.

She felt the heat even as the horn sounded is first note, her lips seeming to be on fire, but she did not pull back, for she knew fire could not hurt her. Dany put all her strength behind the blast and it filled the world with noise, much louder than when the dead man had blown it. Around her men were screaming, holding their ears, falling to the ground. Two rushed her with swords drawn but they collapsed before they could reach her. The horn was smoking and the inscriptions were glowing red and orange, seeming to pulsate. Now she felt her lungs afire, her skin as well, but she felt no pain, just the sensation of heat. When she saw Rhaegal bucking and twisting and throwing Euron Greyjoy high into the air, she knew they were hers again.

Dany pulled her lips away from the horn's end. "DRACARYS!" she yelled and this time they obeyed.

Flame filled the world, and men twisted and screamed and died, turning into piles of ash and bone on the ground. Many tried to run to the water where she had landed, others to the three ships anchored on the other side of the island, but none made it. All died.

When it was done, she found Euron, alive, burned and broken, behind some rocks, which had protected him from some of the flame. He lay there, looking up at her, his voice a bare whisper.

"The horn," he gasped. "You…you should have died."

"You forgot. I am the blood of the dragons, of Old Valyria. Targaryen is my name, and dragons are my family's sigil. Fire and heat cannot hurt me."

"The horn is mine. I am its owner, its master, I am the dragons' master."

"Maybe when that poor man you picked blew it. But when a true daughter of Valyria laid lips on it, the horn knew who its real master was."

"How did… you know?"

"It was a guess, that is all. You were right. I know not much of dragon lore. But today I learned more. And in the end, they are still my children, and you got between a mother and her children, and now you know the price of such foolishness."

He died without saying another word. She walked to her children and they looked at her with sadness in their eyes. "All is well," she said in High Valyrian as she touched their snouts one by one, and they growled in contentment. She looked to the sea and the battle was ending. In the moonlight she could see some ships were on fire, some were sinking, some were being tied up alongside others, and many more were sailing towards her.

"Come, my children," she said. "It is time to rejoin our fleet. And then…then we sail for Westeros…and home."

* * *

 **The Blackwater – Jaime**

"Fine looking sword," Jaime said as he looked at the blade and felt its lightness as he swung it with his left hand. "Valyrian steel, is it not?"

Lord Tarly just glared at him from the camp chair where he sat as the maester looked at his wounded arm. "Where is my son?" he asked again. They were inside Jaime's command pavilion on the south bank of the Blackwater, a day after the great battle.

Jaime put the sword down on a table and shrugged. "I have men looking. Quite a few dead and wounded and prisoners to cull through, you understand. I wonder how the history books will write this one up. The great Lord Randyll Tarly beaten by the Kingslayer, perhaps? Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Beaten by wildfire and sorcery, you mean. Cowards."

"Yes, and when your Queen and her dragons arrive and she burns my men in the thousands what will you call it then? Victory, I am sure. By the way, we did not use sorcery. No such thing."

"Clegane took more than twenty arrows and still stood. What else do you call it?"

"He has good armor. And is a tough man. That's what I call it."

Tarly scoffed. "Lies, all that ever comes from your mouth is lies. Leave it, damn you!"

The last was for a maester, fussing with Tarly's left arm. "The lower arm is broken, my lord," the maester said.

"I know it is broken. Ser Jaime's demon cracked my shield in two and broke it. Get off and piss off."

The maester left and then Ser Addam came in. He was tired and blood stained. "Report," Jaime said.

Ser Addam looked at Tarly. "In front of him, my lord?"

"Yes. He's going nowhere."

"We chased them a good twenty miles. Killed some more, have some more prisoners, and I lost a few, but most of them got away. Just didn't have enough men, my lord."

"No, not after the battle. Where do you think they will go?"

"Maybe Tumbleton. Closest town."

"They'll be back," Tarly said. "Mark my words."

"I know they will be back," Jaime replied. "Smarter, and better prepared. But without you."

"Still men of ability in that army," Tarly said. "They won't make the mistakes I made."

"Yes," Jaime said. He picked up the sword and called the guards. "Some food and drink for Lord Tarly."

"Ser Jaime, wait," Tarly said.

"It's Lord Jaime now," Ser Addam said. "Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West."

Tarly grunted. "So be it. Lord Jaime…you know this war is foolish. You know you cannot win, despite this setback to my forces. Dragons, the Dornish, ironborn warriors, Unsullied, all the resources of the Reach…how can you win?"

"We win or we die," Jaime said. "You leave us no options."

"Your sister did that when she killed my lord and his children."

"An accident, she…"

"Spare me. She did it because they were going to try her, strip her of all titles, and throw her in a cell, or worse. I would have done the same if so cornered."

Jaime was tiring of him. "What do you want?"

"It pains me to say this, but we are not your only enemy. In the North…"

"So I heard. Ned Stark's bastard and daughter have retaken Winterfell."

"That is not all. Petyr Baelish is there, with the Vale. He wrote to us, asking for aid."

"Aid? I thought the Boltons were defeated."

"They are. There is another enemy. I don't really believe it, but my sons do, and so…so maybe it is true. Sam fought them, killed one he says, and Jon Snow…"

Jaime interrupted. "Is this a riddle? If it is I have no clue as to the answer."

"The White Walkers. They've come back."

Ser Addam and the guards laughed. "An old woman's bedtime story," Ser Addam said.

"So I thought," Tarly said. "But Baelish wrote of it, said Jon Snow and ten thousand men were going to the Wall to defend it against them. My other son Sam is in the Night's Watch. He said Snow fought the Walkers and their demons at a place called Hardhome. Said he killed one with a dagger, made of…some kind of glass."

Jaime sighed. "My lord, this is all very interesting, but it has little to do with our war."

"Maybe not, maybe it's all lies. But what if it isn't?"

Jaime had no answer to that. "Bring him food and drink and don't let him out of your sight," he said to the guards.

"My son?" Tarly asked.

"We'll keep looking," Jaime said and then he and Ser Addam left the tent.

Outside it was a grey day, with a chill on the air. Jaime had little experience of winter but there was no doubt the snow would be here soon. All around was his army, in good spirits, for they had won a battle. Jaime did not enjoy it as much as they did, for he knew Tarly was right. One battle does not win a war, and there were many more enemies out there…and maybe even one more.

Ser Addam made a scoffing sound. "White Walkers. What a pile of rubbish."

"Yes, I imagine so," Jaime replied. "Still, if Snow took ten thousand to the Wall that is ten thousand less we will have to face."

"I think the Northerners are sick of war, my lord. Maybe they will stay out of this one altogether."

"Not if Tyrion is there. He will use that glib tongue of his and bring them to his side."

"What will you do if you meet your brother in battle?"

"Kill him," Jaime said. Ser Addam said nothing to that. "I want you and some of your men to help look for this son of Tarly. Dickon is his name. A valuable hostage if he is still alive. Check the wounded and prisoners first. If someone captured him and wants the ransom promise him a hundred gold but don't tell him his prisoner is from one of the richest families in the Reach if he doesn't know already."

"Yes, my lord." Ser Addam went off to carry out his orders, tired as he was, but he would still do it. A good man, and they were hard to find.

The smell of wildfire and burnt flesh still hung over the field. Jaime put Tarly's sword on his saddle and then mounted his horse his squire had been holding. He went around the perimeter, talking to the men, accepting their cheers, and telling them how splendid they had done. Piles of the Reach's dead were in front of the ditches and stakes of the perimeter, many filled with arrows, others burnt in their armor. Some of his men were out there, sorting them out, collecting any good armor and weapons, and the few horses that were still wandering about. There were too many to bury so he ordered them burnt and already smoking funeral pyres filled the air with more stench.

Next he rode to the healing tents, where the maesters plied their trade. Screams were common here, and the dull dazed look of the wounded waiting for their turn as well. Inside one tent he found Qyburn and Ser Gregor, alone. The brute had done his part, standing front and center, and it seemed every bowman chose him as his target. The arrows didn't bother Clegane, and he had used his great strength and massive sword to cut down a hundred men, or so the rumors went. The enemy had already begun to crack, from the flights of arrows and wildfire, and when Jaime gave the command for hand to hand combat, five thousand men had surged forward, with Ser Gregor at their head.

Ten minutes later the Tyrells began to break and then run, and Jaime set Ser Addam loose on their flanks with his cavalry. The Tyrell cavalry desperately covered the retreat, and so many men had gotten away to fight another day.

"What is the count?" Jaime asked Qyburn, while trying not to look at Clegane. Still about ten arrows were sticking out of him, mostly in his chest and legs. The holes in his armor where many more had been removed were visible. No blood flowed, and Clegane did not seem in pain. He sat on a big chair and waited, silent as usual.

"Of our dead, four hundred and twenty-three, though that number may rise," Qyburn said. "About a thousand wounded as well, and maybe fifty missing, mostly cavalry men who Ser Addam lost during his night attack a few days past."

"And the enemy?"

"Hard to say. I'd estimate five thousand dead, and about five hundred of their wounded we have, though many of them will die as well. Of prisoners, some two thousand, including many knights and minor lords, all demanding they be ransomed, I have heard."

"Have you heard of Lord Tarly's son, named Dickon?"

"Men are looking for him, my lord. He could be among the dead."

"Yes. Pity if he were. Lord Tarly we will keep here until the war ends. His son we could have ransomed for a large sum. Or maybe sent home with our demands."

"I doubt they will agree to any demands, my lord," Qyburn replied as he used a pair of tongs to pull another arrow out of Clegane. "Most of their army got away and will be back."

"Yes, for certain," Jaime said and then he was about leave but stopped. "Tarly was babbling on about the White Walkers."

"Oh?"

"Have you heard of them?"

"Every maester has, though few believe in them."

"You are not a maester."

"No, but I trained at the Citadel for some years. There the topic of the White Walkers and dragons and other such things is frowned upon. They have no place in this world, I was told when a novice. Better to study what we can see and touch and know, they told me. I took that to heart, and began to study the mysteries of the human body and mind. And was banished for it."

"But are they real?"

"No one knows."

"Jon Snow thinks they are."

Qyburn stopped what he was doing and looked at him. "Please explain, my lord."

Jaime told him what Tarly said. "Interesting," said Qyburn when Jamie was done. "You say Jon Snow led his entire army to the Wall?"

"So it seems."

"Maybe there is something to this after all."

That took Jaime aback. "But…it's all nonsense, isn't it?"

"We once thought that dragons would never fly again, my lord, but they are coming. What is to say these White Walkers are any different?"

Jaime did not know what to say to that. Then a voice called for him from outside. It was Ser Addam.

"We found the boy's body," he said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Tarly says it's him."

Ser Addam led him to a nearby healing tent where outside Tarly was standing over a body on the ground. He now had a sling over his shoulder and his left forearm rested in it. His son's upper body was naked, and showed wounds to the chest and stomach.

"He told the maester his name before he died," Ser Addam explained. "Two arrows he had in him."

"He was by my side," Tarly said, his voice grim, strangely unemotional for a man who had just lost his son. "Then I lost sight of him." He turned to Jaime. "I want to send his bones home to his mother."

"Of course," Jaime said. "But you will stay."

Tarly gave a short nod. "And my sword? It's been in my family for almost five hundred years."

"You will get it back when we negotiate your ransom with your family."

"I suppose part of this negotiation will be my promise to stay off the field of battle."

"It will." He turned to Ser Addam. "Find Lord Tarly a horse."

Ser Addam left and Tarly looked at Jaime. "Where am I to go? The black cells?"

"Oh, no. A lord's prison for you. On a high floor of a high tower. I am sure with that broken arm you are going no where, unless you can fly. Not to worry about your son. The maesters will prepare him for the trip home. Meanwhile, you will write letters, for that crone Olenna Tyrell or whoever is in charge now, offering our terms."

"What terms?"

"For the Reach to stay out of the rest of the war."

He snorted. "If I don't write the letters?"

"Then it is the black cells for you, your son's body chopped into pieces and fed to the dogs, and after that I will start hanging prisoners. As I said, you have left us no options, so the niceties of war I can freely ignore if I so choose. Now, shall we ride and start discussing what you will write or will I give the command to desecrate your son's body?"

Tarly's face was full of anger. "You have no honor."

"Yes, we can both agree on that. The day I donned that damn white cloak and began serving a monster is the day I lost all my honor. By killing him I thought to gain some back but I only made it worse. So, shall we ride or not?"

Tarly just stared at him, a hard glare that Jaime was sure made many a man quake, but Jaime had seen such stares all his life from his father. Finally Tarly gave a short nod again. "I will write your damn letters. I doubt they will do any good. Lady Tyrell wants to see you all in your graves for what you did to her family."

"Then I guess our war will continue."

* * *

 **The Riverlands – Arya**

"Freys," Arya said, clenching her teeth, trying to control the urge to dash out and kill someone. The Kingsroad was full of Freys, on horse and on foot, with banners flying and supply wagons loaded down. The road was a few inches deep in snow and slush and mud, but on they plodded, heading south, unaware that three fugitives were hidden in a copse of woods a hundred yards away. Arya was sitting in a tree, looking at the road in the distance, while down below Gendry and Bronn looked up at her besides the remains of a small fire they had just put out.

"How many?" Bronn asked.

"Hundreds," she said. "On horse and walking, wagons also."

"Going to King's Landing, no doubt," Bronn said. "Best we stay put till they passed. We'll move again after dark."

Arya climbed down and sat on a log next to Gendry, who was chewing on an apple. They had enough food for now, food they had gotten off the dead men and from the inn. After they had dragged the four Lannister men off behind the inn, they took all their coin off them, which wasn't much, and whatever else was useful. Gendry took a sword and dagger and a heavy cloak and a pair of gloves off one of the dead. Arya also took some gloves, which were a bit big, but better than nothing. They also took all the remaining food and drink off the horses and put them on the ones they would ride. Then they went inside and bought as much food as they could off the innkeeper. Bronn was for killing him as well and stealing it all, but Arya stopped him. "No, he did us no harm," she said.

Bronn shrugged. "No matter to me. But he will talk, and they will know I am with you now."

"I don't care," she said, though she knew he was right. "He lives."

The innkeeper was sweating by then, standing there looking at them with his beady eyes as wide as they could go. He filled two sacks with fruit and bread, cheese and meat, and vegetables, and also four skins of wine and ale. Bronn gave him three gold for it and the innkeeper said it was generous and promised that he wouldn't talk about what had happened.

"Aye, you will," Bronn said. "Cause the next bunch comes up this road will wave a sword or a rope in your face or at your loved ones and you'll tell it all."

The innkeeper said nothing, just sweated some more. "Best you put those four underground or burn them," Bronn said as they left. "Or your inn will be overrun with flies."

That was three days ago. The Kingsroad they stuck to at first as they neared Gods Eye Lake and then Harrenhal and they made good time on their horses. At night they camped far off the road, found shelter in the woods, built a small fire, and bedded down. Arya wished they had a tent, but Bronn knew how to make small lean-to shelters from tree branches and it would have to do. They took turns standing guard while the other two slept.

"No more inns, not on the Kingsroad anyway," Bronn said the first night. "Soon they will be looking for us. Already looking for you two."

"Because I killed Ilyn Payne?" Arya asked.

"Not only that. Cersei wants you as a hostage to keep your brother and sister out of the war. So we stay out of inns and away from people as much as possible."

"Might be we go cross country," Gendry suggested.

"Aye, could be," Bronn said. "But the Kingsroad is faster, but it also means we'll run into people. Just don't talk to anyone. If they ask questions, we are heading to our home nearby, and if they ask more questions tell them we don't talk to strangers in these dark times. It'll take a few days or more for them to figure out what's happened, so we travel by day for now, as fast as we can. Then I think it'd be better to move by night."

That first night she and Gendry made a small fire and cooked some sausages over it. The hobbled horses were nearby scratching at the snowy ground to get to the grass underneath. Bronn just sat there on a log they found, rhythmically sharpening his blade.

"You do that a lot?" she asked as she picked up the stick the sausages were on and turned it over so they would cook even.

"Aye," he said. "Every day. You should do the same with your sword."

"Needle its called," she said. "What's your sword named?"

"It doesn't have a name."

"All good swords have a name."

"Never held to that," Bronn answered. "A sword is for killing, not for treating like a pet dog. I start naming my sword then I will start loving it and doing stupid things to make sure I don't lose it or get it nicked or covered in blood. And that one second of hesitation and thinking will get me killed."

Arya was going to protest but knew he was right. She had done stupid things to save Needle. Like chasing Polliver into that inn that almost got her and the Hound killed. Like in Braavos, hiding it when they told her to get rid of it. But she couldn't just let it go, because it was hers, it was Jon's gift, it was home.

The food was ready and they ate, Arya and Gendry sitting on one side of the fire and Bronn on the other. He drank some wine and then leaned back in the lean-to shelter, and closed his eyes. "Smith, you got the first watch," he said. "Little lady, get some rest when you're done eating."

"Wait," Arya replied. "We want to talk…about the plan."

"There is no plan. Get to Winterfell, that's it."

Gendry spoke up. "And find Tyrion Lannister, you said."

"Aye. We find him, too."

"How do you know him?" Arya asked.

Bronn sighed. "Not going to let me sleep are you?"

"Just…we want to know what's going on," she said. "You said you know Sansa. Tell me what happened to her. I…I haven't seen her in such a long time. Not since the day they arrested my father." Then she got a bad thought. "Did you work for the Lannisters then?"

Bronn sat up and took a long drink of wine, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I wasn't even there when all that happened in King's Landing. I was in the Eyrie by that time, I guess. I did meet your mother, on the Kingsroad, and later saved her life."

"What? What happened?"

So he spoke, on all that happened to him, and how he met her mother, when they arrested Tyrion, and then how they fought the hill tribes, and how he killed Ser Vardis in Tyrion's trial by combat.

Arya stopped him. "Did he do it? Did Tyrion try to kill Bran? And Jon Arryn?"

"Not as far as I know."

"You mean he could be guilty?" Gendry asked.

"Not likely. Listen, have you ever met Tyrion Lannister?"

"Never talked to him but I seen him a few times," Gendry said. "Hard to miss him in the city, a dwarf who walks around like he is king of the world."

Bronn laughed. "Aye, he does at that."

"I saw him at Winterfell," Arya said. "But I didn't talk to him."

"Cause he was either drunk or in a whore's bed the whole time, right?"

"I don't know," Arya replied. "Was he?"

"More than likely. The man likes to drink, and screw, and read, and talk. He don't like blood, and war, and all that mess. So why would he try to kill your brother or Jon Arryn?"

"For his sister and brother if they told him," Arya shot back. "I heard people at Harrenhal say they were lovers, that all Cersei's children were Ser Jaime's also. That got me thinking."

"That's dangerous."

"Just listen. If Bran saw them in that tower together…like man and woman…and they pushed him, Tyrion would kill him for them, so he wouldn't talk when he woke up."

"Aye, could be, if any of that is true. I mean, I know the children were all Ser Jaime's, so that's true."

"Everyone in King's Landing heard that rumor," Gendry said.

"All of Westeros by now," Bronn added. "And maybe your brother saw them fucking in that tower he fell from."

"Or was pushed from," Arya said.

"Aye, or was pushed from. But there is one thing your mother didn't know. Tyrion hates Cersei and she hates him. Why do you think they blamed him for Joffrey's death?"

"Oh, right," Arya said. He had explained that already, back at the inn. "So…who killed Jon Arryn and who paid the man to attack Bran?"

"No one knows."

Now that Bronn got talking it seemed like he didn't want to stop. He told them more stories, about the Blackwater, and Tyrion and Sansa's wedding and how Joffrey died, and Oberyn Martell and the Mountain's fight, and Dorne, and how Ser Jaime lost his hand, and how Jaime fought a bear to save a woman named Brienne, and how she was blamed for Renly's death. Arya knew that had to be the same Brienne who tried to take her from the Hound.

When he was done he looked at them. "Your turn," he said, now a little drunk from the wine. "Did you kill Walder Frey?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation. "I saw you and Ser Jaime there. I served you two wine and Jaime looked right at me and didn't know me."

"Cause your face was different?"

"Yes."

"Did you learn that in Braavos?"

"That and much more."

Now he seemed really interested. "How in bloody hell did you convince them to train you?"

So now she talked, and Gendry talked, about escaping from King's Landing, and about the fight at the holdfast, and Jaqen, and the iron coin, and how he helped them escape from Harrenhal. Some of this Bronn said he knew already, just not the details.

He laughed when she said she was Tywin Lannister's cupbearer. "Gods, I'd like to see the look on his face if he ever found out he had a Stark pouring his wine. Why didn't you kill him?"

"I wanted to. But we were surrounded by Lannister men all the time. And I didn't know how to change my face back then."

They also told him about the Brotherhood, and the cave, and the fight the Hound had with Lord Beric, and how Thoros brought him back to life.

"That's impossible," Bronn said.

Arya shrugged. "Believe it or not, it happened."

But they didn't tell him about Melisandre, or the leeches in the brazier. If he didn't believe Lord Beric came back to life he would never believe that.

Soon after that they went to sleep, with Gendry taking the first watch. And so they passed three days moving on the Kingsroad and making up time, getting closer to Harrenhal. But this morning after they made their fire and cooked breakfast they heard the sound of horses and so Arya climbed the tree as they put out the fire.

Bronn climbed the tree next and sat there for a long time, finally climbing down near the noon hour. "That was the last of them. I bet there was about three to four thousand of them. All heading off to die."

They rested for the remainder of the day and then when the sun started to go down they made their way to the Kingsroad and by the light of a half moon made good time until near daylight. They passed through some small villages and one larger town, but no guards were posted anywhere, and the only lights they saw were in a pub in the town. Bronn kept them moving, not lagging for any reason, and if they had to make water or take a shit they did it quick and got back on their horse.

Two nights later they passed a crossroads on their left and Bronn said that was the way to Harrenhal. It was a dark cold night, with snow falling, and Arya was sleepy, but jerked awake when he said that. Harrenhal had a lot of bad memories for her, of torture, of hunger, and of almost seeing Gendry die.

"Might be the Brotherhood is about here," Gendry said to her.

"Could be," she said back. She looked at him in the darkness, bundled up in his cloak, riding beside her. Little chance they had to be alone and show any affection for each other of late. Bronn still didn't seem to know they were more than friends who had shared some danger and they agreed to keep it that way one night when he was sleeping. "The less he knows the better," Arya said and Gendry agreed.

"How did you two escape from the Brotherhood?" Bronn asked, bringing her out of her memories.

All they told him was they had escaped, and nothing more. "Ran away," she said. "They went off to hunt some Lannisters and left only a few guards."

"Right, that's what happened," said Gendry and then Bronn laughed.

"She's good. You…not so good."

"What do you mean? You calling me a liar?" Gendry asked, pulling his horse in front of Arya's, closer to Bronn's.

"I mean she knows how to lie. But you still don't. Listen, no offense meant. Just I know the little lady was with the Hound, I know…"

"How do you know that?" Arya demanded.

"Cause we heard he killed five men at an inn and a young girl that looks like you was with him."

"He didn't kill five men," she said. "He killed three. I killed the other two."

"Fair enough. So, what ever happened to him?"

"He's dead."

"Killed by you?"

"No. By that women you said was with Ser Jaime, the one he saved from the bear. Brienne of Tarth she called herself."

"She killed the Hound?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes. She found us, wanted to take me from him, so they fought and she beat him bad. I left him to die, and went to Saltpans and got a boat to Braavos."

"Ain't that something. She never told us that at Riverrun."

"She was at Riverrun?" Arya asked, worried this crazy woman was still looking for her. "When was that?"

"About moon's turn or so ago. Your Uncle Edmure surrendered the castle. Now the Frey's got it, and…"

"I know," she said. "I heard them bragging about it at the Twins. How my uncle betrayed his people all because his Frey wife had a baby. They called him coward. I also heard how my uncle Brynden died defending his family's honor."

"Aye, so it went. Now Edmure is in a cell and Riverrun is the Frey's."

On they rode for a little while more, with the snow getting worse, blowing in their faces, making it hard to see. Arya pulled her horse behind the others, trying to get some shelter from the snow and wind. She was about to suggest they find real shelter, when she noticed Bronn and Gendry had stopped their horses. Shadows were on the road ahead of them, the falling snow and darkness making it hard to see them clearly.

"Evening," said Bronn.

"Evening," said a voice, a man's. "Give us the horses and your coin and we'll let you be."

Arya hoped her horse was blocked from the people on the road's view. She quietly slipped off her horse, with Needle in hand, and then she slipped off the road to the left.

"Tell you what," Bronn was saying as Arya moved as quiet as she could behind some bushes on the side of the road. "How about we keep the horses and coin, and we'll let you be?"

Someone laughed. "There's six of us and only two of you."

"Two?" Gendry said. "We…we're two, yes."

"Now piss off before someone gets hurt," Bronn said.

Again they laughed. Now Arya could see them clearly, six shadows, men, with weapons in hand…hand weapons, no one had a bow or crossbow, which was good. She could not see any surcoats or sigils, which meant they were not soldiers. Outlaws…but not the Brotherhood. They did not rob the people or harm them. Broken men, maybe these were.

"Time for talking is done," said the leader of the broken men. "Kill them."

They moved forward as Bronn and Gendry pulled out their swords. To her surprise Bronn leaped off his horse, but Gendry stayed on his…and charged.

As the horse moved towards the men in the center Bronn was already killing those on the right, and Arya started killing those on the left. She slipped behind the one closest to her, and shoved Needle's point into the back of his neck and quickly pulled it out again as he gasped and fell to the ground. The one next to him was too busy swinging a sword at Gendry and didn't see her as she stabbed him under the armpit…but she hit chain mail. He spun around, screamed a curse at her, but Needle was in his throat before his sword was even raised.

The third one on her side had just leaped aside from the charging horse and saw her now too. He swung his sword, like he was swinging an axe, and all it took was a nimble step to one side and he missed. He came back for another swing but then gasped and died as Gendry buried his sword in the back of his neck.

Behind her, Bronn had already killed two, and was dueling with the last one, a big man, no doubt the leader, and this one seemed to know how to use a sword. Maybe he wore mail as well so Arya stabbed down behind his right leg and hit flesh and the man screamed and in that moment Bronn shoved his sword into his ribs and the man died in a pool of blood.

As Bronn went around making sure they were dead he called out. "Anyone hurt?"

"No," Arya said.

"Yes," Gendry gasped and then he fell from the horse.

"Gods!" she yelled and raced to his side. "Where are you hurt?"

"My left leg," he said, grimacing in pain. She felt his upper leg and there was wetness, surely blood.

Bronn was there now, and he knew what to do. He took out his dagger and cut strips from Gendry's cloak and bound up the wound. "A slash, not a stab. It's not deep," he said. "Should heal well."

"He needs a maester!"

"Aye, and would you have one in your pocket? No. So get on your horse and let's go. This lot might have friends nearby."

They helped Gendry on his horse, and he cried out in pain. "You'll be fine," she said, trying to give him and her courage. "It's not that bad."

But a day later it was bad. He was feverish and the wound had a redness around it. "He needs a maester!" she said once more.

Bronn nodded. "Aye, that he does." He thought for a minute and then stood and looked back from their wooden lean-to shelter in the direction of the Kingsroad. "Maybe about two miles ahead is an inn I know. Same place where I met your mother."

"I know that inn," Arya said, excited now. "It's where we left my friend Hot Pie when the Brotherhood took us."

"Hot Pie?"

"He's a baker's apprentice. He was in Harrenhal with us and escaped with us."

"Let's just hope he's still there and knows someone who can help us. Cause if not, the lad might lose more than just his leg."

Arya almost cried then but she didn't, needing to remain strong for Gendry. If he ever was to see her home and meet her family, and…become her man…she had to seem him through this, no matter what it took.

* * *

 **Castle Black – Jon**

The next raven that came back to Castle Black from Winterfell was so full of news Jon was stunned as to how to reply at first. Melisandre coming back to Winterfell, escorted by Brienne of all people. And Baelish, a traitor, Tyrion Lannister said…the man who started all the wars. He had to speak to Lord Royce. He found him in his command pavilion with his officers, just south of Castle Black, and when Jon told him he wished to speak to him alone, he dismissed the rest. Lord Royce gave him mulled wine and they sat by a warm brazier at a table.

"More news from Winterfell," he said and he handed over the letter. Lord Royce took it and read, and then he looked at Jon.

"Your Grace, we must assess the value of these words. They come from the man accused of trying to kill your brother. Are you now assuming Tyrion Lannister did not try to have your brother killed?"

"I never believed he did. He was with me going to the Wall when Bran was attacked. When he returned to Winterfell he helped design a saddle for Bran to ride. What man who tried to kill him would do that?"

"Yes, you have good points. If his words about Baelish are true...gods. That vile worm. How…how could I have been so trusting? I knew he was dangerous, but this, if it is true…my gods."

"Lord Tyrion says it is true. Varys was a witness to the conversation. Theon Greyjoy heard it from Robb and Lady Stark as well he claims."

"But why would Baelish say the dagger was Lord Tyrion's if it was not?"

"Because he loved Lady Stark," Jon replied.

"This I know," Lord Royce said. "I think all of the Riverlands and the Vale did, if not all Westeros. It is why he never married…until his sham marriage to Lady Lysa. But how could this help win the love of Lady Catelyn? I should think quite the opposite."

"He wanted Lord Stark dead or out of the way. He wanted them to do something stupid, to take revenge on the Lannisters, maybe start a war."

"Yes, it makes sense," said Lord Royce to Jon's relief. "Yet we still don't know who paid the assassin to kill your brother, who gave him the dagger. Perhaps we should talk to him. Maybe he knows something else."

They found Bran in his rooms, just finishing his breakfast, with Meera as always by his side.

"Bran, Lord Royce and I have some questions," Jon said.

Lord Royce looked at Meera. "Forgive me, Lady Reed, but this is not for your ears."

"She can stay," Bran said.

"No, I will go," Meera said, a touch angry, and before Bran could protest she left with the breakfast dishes.

"Sorry," Jon said to Bran as he sat. "But this needs to be private."

Lord Royce sat in the other chair. "My lord, we wish…"

"I am not a lord," Bran said.

"Apparently you are," said Lord Royce. "You are the heir to Winterfell, my lord."

"I know, just…I don't feel like it should be mine. It should be Sansa's. She is older."

"That is not our way," Lord Royce replied. "No matter, my lord, we…"

"Brandon…or Bran will be fine."

"Very well. Bran, we wish to ask you about when you were attacked in Winterfell."

He looked at them in surprise. "Why?"

"We may have some news about that," Jon said. "Just tell us what happened."

"Someone set the library on fire and while most everyone was distracted, the man came into my room with a dagger. If it weren't for Mother and Summer I'd be dead."

"What did the man look like?" Lord Royce asked. "Did he say anything or tell you who sent him or who gave him the dagger?"

"I don't know. I was unconscious still. I just know what Maester Luwin told me when I woke up. Mother was gone to King's Landing by then."

Jon and Lord Royce looked at each other in surprise. "That's right, I forgot," Jon said. He hadn't been there either, on his way to the Wall when the man had tried to kill Bran. And so had Tyrion.

"Unconscious? From the fall that injured you?" Lord Royce asked.

"Yes."

"And how did you fall, Bran?"

"I don't know. I can't remember."

Lord Royce sighed. "A waste of time I am afraid." He stood up.

"Wait," Bran said. "What's this all about?"

Jon looked to Lord Royce who nodded. "We should tell him, Your Grace. He is the Lord of Winterfell no matter what he thinks. He should know."

"Bran, we think Lord Petyr Baelish was the one who told your mother and father that Tyrion Lannister was the one who gave the dagger to the man who tried to murder you."

Bran looked surprised. "Why would he do that?"

"Baelish loved your mother," Lord Royce said. "It seems he wanted your father to be killed…and got his wish."

Bran shook his head. "This all makes no sense. How did he know someone would attack me? Unless he paid the man to try to kill me."

"Maybe he did," said Jon. "Or maybe someone else paid the man and Baelish saw a chance to spread discord and took it."

"How do you know he said this to my mother and father?" Bran asked and Jon showed him the letter from Sansa. "Tyrion Lannister," Bran said after he read it. "He made my saddle. Who is Lord Varys? I don't know him."

"The Spider he is called," Lord Royce said. "A slippery man, as slippery as an eel. Not to be trusted."

"So why should we trust him now?" Bran asked.

"He has a point," Jon said. "Tyrion tells Sansa a story told to him by Theon and Varys. How do we know any of it is true?"

"We don't," Lord Royce said with a heavy sigh. "We must wait for these men to bear witness. We cannot arrest him and try him on Lord Tyrion's word alone. We must also consider that Lannisters are not well known for their honesty or honor. It pains me to say so, as I wish I was rid of Baelish."

"We should hold him, at least," Jon said. "Throw him in a cell before he can do more harm."

"If only we could, Your Grace. But Baelish has the heart and mind of Lord Robin in his hands and my lord's word is law in the Vale. If we arrest Baelish there is no telling what Lord Robin would do. If he commanded me to march my men home I would have no choice but to obey."

"Aye," Jon said, knowing he was right. "Thank you for your advice, my lord."

"What will you do?"

"I will tell Sansa to do nothing for now, for there is nothing we can do."

"Very well, Your Grace," Lord Royce said and he left them.

"Who is Brienne?" Bran asked, still holding the raven message from Sansa.

"Brienne is the woman I told you saved Sansa and Theon from the Boltons. We sent her south to talk to your Uncle Brynden but he refused to join us."

"The Frey's attacked Riverrun, didn't they?"

"They did."

"Some day we should kill every Frey."

Jon whole heartedly agreed. "We will."

"Why is Brienne bringing Melisandre back to Winterfell?"

"I don't know."

"You banished her."

"She killed Stannis' daughter."

"Then she should die," Bran said.

"Yes…but I banished her. Now I may have to order her death." Jon knew he had to order it. If he did not follow the law no one would obey his commands. "I will write to Sansa and tell her to have her hung."

Bran shook his head. "No. If I am truly the Lord of Winterfell I am also Warden of the North, yes?"

"Aye, you are."

"Then it is my duty to pass sentence. I would have Sansa hear the reasons for this first, and write us to explain."

"And if Brienne broke the law as well with no good reason?"

Bran seemed to know what he was asking and balked. "She did save Sansa. She did help you."

"True. But Father always said that a man can be good every day of his life, but on the one day he is bad, and does harm to someone, all the good does not make up for that."

Bran nodded. "You mean if Brienne broke the law then she must also be punished?"

"Aye, she must."

* * *

 **Winterfell – Sansa**

A raven arrived from Castle Black, from Jon asking her to get more details from Tyrion when he arrived, but also saying this.

" _Tell Lord Tyrion the true war is at the Wall. We can offer no support to Daenerys Targaryen at this time. We would be grateful if he asked her to bring her forces here when she is done in the south."_

"That does seem wise," Baelish said, when they told him and Ser Davos the news.

"Quite so," said Tyrion. "Only problem is I don't know where she is now. Do you have ravens for all the major cities?"

"I believe so," said Sansa.

"What about Tarth? She was planning to land there."

"I doubt it." They called for Maester Wolkan and learned they had no birds for Tarth and the closest place to Tarth they a raven for was Storm's End.

"I must have news of the Queen," Tyrion said. "Who commands Storm's End now and for who?"

"Ser Courtney Penrose held it for Stannis," Ser Davos told them. "Now…I am not sure."

"We must establish some communications with the southern lands," Tyrion said. "Close to where the Queen will arrive."

Baelish spoke up. "Why not write to Ser Courtney and see where he stands, Ser Davos? He once supported Stannis, so I am sure he has no love for the Lannisters."

"Maybe so," Ser Davos said, and so they wrote the letter and sent it with the only bird they had for Storm's End.

Brienne and the rest arrived a few days later. Sansa was not there to meet them, being in the food stores under the castle with the steward, checking on supplies, trying to decide how much they would need for the coming winter and how much they could spare for the men at the Wall. A guard found her and told her a large party was at the east gate and asking permission to enter the castle.

"Is it the red woman and Brienne…a tall woman, a warrior?" she asked. Brienne had never been to Winterfell so her men might not know her.

"Aye, my lady. And many more."

"Let them in. I will be there shortly."

She pulled on her fur lined cloak and went up to meet them. It was a cold, cloudy day, but with no snow at least. As she crossed the courtyard she saw Ser Davos on a walkway above. "I think you should not be here," she called up to him.

"You promise to put her in a cell right away, my lady?"

"I do."

"Don't let her talk to you. She will just twist you to do what she wants."

"I promise I won't."

He nodded and went back inside. Sansa walked on towards the group of people climbing off their horses, and with them were some more supply wagons that were moving inside the castle. Baelish was there, already talking to the Vale men who brought the supplies from Moat Cailin, and ignoring the rest. Four of her guards were now with her and more men were lining the walkways above.

Brienne was looking towards her, a worried look on her face, and behind her was Melisandre, in chains she was glad to see, with Podrick standing beside her. And there was a tall man with a patch on one eye, and it was he who stepped forward first.

"Lady Stark," he said as he dipped his head. "I am Lord Beric Dondarrion, leader of the Brotherhood Without Banners. We beg the hospitality of Winterfell."

"My father always spoke highly of you, Lord Beric," Sansa said in the correct way, covering up her surprise that he was still alive. "I have heard you have done good work to avenge my mother and brother and many more. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours. My people will show you to the stables and there will be soon food and drink in the great hall. I hope…hope…"

But then her voice faltered and a shock went up her spine. "Sandor?" she almost gasped.

"Aye, little bird," said Sandor Clegane as he emerged from the crowd of men, his height and scarred face unmistakable.

She stared at him, unable to find her voice, and all eyes were on her and him. Then she just blurted it out. "I thought you were dead."

"Not yet," said Dondarrion. "The Lord of Light has plans for Sandor Clegane. Now he rides with us, to avenge the people and to face the great enemy at the Wall."

"I…yes. I understand. Welcome, all." She turned to one of her guards. "Show them the stables and then the great hall." The men with Dondarrion started to move to the side, Sandor included. Dondarrion stood beside Brienne still as now her eyes fell on Brienne.

"Welcome back, Lady Brienne. Thank you for your efforts in trying to recruit my uncle to our cause. What word of him and Riverrun?"

"Things did not go well after I sent you the raven saying he would not join you. I am sorry to say I believe your Uncle Brynden is dead, my lady. When we left he was about to fight the Freys…and your Uncle Edmure."

Sansa hardly knew either of her uncles, but they were still family and it grieved her to hear they had clashed. "Explain."

"Lord Edmure Tully ordered the castle to surrender. The Blackfish refused, but his men betrayed him. Podrick and I barely escaped by riverboat. The Blackfish refused to come with us. Riverrun is surely held by the Freys by now, my lady."

Sansa was sure she spoke the truth. A raven she and Jon had sent to Riverrun, and silence was the answer they had gotten in return. "They will someday die for their betrayal of my family."

"If the gods are just they will," said Brienne. "Lord Walder Frey is already dead."

Sansa had not known that. "How?"

"Killed at his dinner table," Lord Beric said. "His throat cut wide open. Or so the rumor is. But he is certainly dead, as are many more. We killed a group trying to kill Lady Brienne and Podrick, which is how we met."

"They saved us so we decided to ride north with them," Brienne added.

"And with the Lady Melisandre as well it seems," Sansa said, getting to the point. "Do you know my bother banished her from the North?"

"We know. I…"

"Yet you bring her back here? We have had a bird from Ser Morton Waynwood, explaining all that happened at Moat Cailin…yet not your reasons for doing this."

"My lady, I can explain…"

"Not here," Sansa said, colder than she meant. She turned to her guards. "Take Lady Melisandre to the cells."

They moved to take her and Melisandre spoke. "I must have words with you, Lady Stark."

Sansa ignored her as the four guards took her away. "Come with me, Lady Brienne," she said. "You as well Lord Beric, if you please."

Podrick went to take the reins of their horses but then he stopped and a look of shock came on his face.

"Lord Tyrion?" Podrick said.

"Yes, it's me," Tyrion answered with a grin as he walked towards them. "Good to see you among the living, Pod. I see you have found someone else to squire for."

"That was Ser Jaime's idea," Brienne said. "To get him out of the city while you were on trial. Your sister was threatening him, to be either a witness against you or to join you in the cells."

"Yes, I do recall," Tyrion said. "We have not met, though I have heard many tales of you, my lady. Apparently my brother saved you from a bear."

"He did."

"How gallant of him."

"I saw him in the Riverlands a few weeks past."

"Oh? I thought he would have been guarding his king."

"They stripped him of his status as Kingsguard."

"Indeed? There is a tale to tell here. But it is rather cold out here and there is no wine."

"Please join us, my lord," Sansa said to Tyrion as she walked inside the great keep.

"We'll talk later," Tyrion said to Pod.

"Sandor Clegane is with us, my lord," Pod said.

"Is he?" Tyrion said with evident surprise. "Him I will want words with as well. Make sure he does not get too drunk, Pod."

Up they went in the great keep, to her rooms and solar, and a servant was already laying out ale and wine and some food. She poured for them all and then she left as they sat.

Sansa stared at Brienne. "Explain why you have brought this woman back here when my brother banished her on pain of death."

So she talked about the Wall, and Bran, and how Melisandre said the Wall would fall, and Bran would cause it, and that she had to be there, to save the army, so it could escape, and how she would die.

"And you believed all this?" Sansa asked.

"I'm not sure," Brienne confessed. "But if it is true…we cannot take any chances."

"Agreed," said Dondarrion. "If the Lord of Light says the red woman is meant to be at the Wall, she should be there."

"The Lord of Light," Tyrion said thoughtfully. "I have seen a few of his priestesses in the east. I have no love for the gods, but these ones seem to be not ones to ignore."

Sansa did not know what to believe, but she knew one thing was true. The red woman had brought Jon back to life, so she had some powers. Still, she had murdered a young girl.

"I have written to Jon about her return. We must await what he says."

"We should not wait too long, my lady," Dondarrion said. "If the Wall falls and she is not there, your brother's army is doomed."

"We will wait for now," Sansa replied. "My people will have rooms prepared for your men in the soldier's barracks. You may sleep here in the great keep if you wish."

"I will stay with my men," he said. "But first there is more news, my lady. I have met your sister, Arya."

Sansa felt as if her heart stopped. "When?"

"Almost two years ago now." And then he explained about his men finding her, with two boys, and they had just escaped from Harrenhal where they had been held by the Lannisters. Then he told a tale about the Hound and a trial by combat when Arya accused him of murder.

"He did kill that boy," Sansa said.

"So it is true," Dondarrion said. "He was guilty of murder."

"Yes. It was my fault," she replied, feeling guilty. "I lied for Joffrey. The boy did not hit Joffrey, but I said he did. The Hound ran him down and killed him."

"So your sister said. Clegane killed me, and the Lord of Light brought me back."

"Brought you back?" Tyrion said.

"Yes. Jon Snow is not the only one who owes his life to our god. Thoros of Myr did the deed."

"Thoros?" Tyrion said in surprise. "Is he with you? I do love drinking with a man who can handle his drink."

"He is, and he still drinks." He turned back to Sansa. "Clegane won, so we let him go. Then your sister escaped and we lost her."

Sansa could scarce believe it. Had it been that long or more since she had seen Arya? She turned to Brienne. "When did you see her in the Vale?"

"It's been more than a year."

"Where was she in all that missing time?" Then she remembered what Brienne had said. "You said she was with a man, who she did not want to leave. Who was it? Did you know him?"

Brienne blanched and then sighed. "It was Sandor Clegane, my lady."

Now Sansa was mad. "You should have told me!"

"I'm sorry, my lady, but I was…"

Sansa stood. "Lady Brienne…we will speak later. Thank you for the truth…finally. That is all."

Brienne looked hurt and Sansa felt bad, but she had to let her know she had erred. "Yes, my lady. I…I will be in the stables." She stood and left them.

"I wonder why she never told you," said Tyrion.

"Maybe she didn't think I knew him. But it matters not," Sansa said. "What I want to know is why Arya was with him and what he knows about her."

Off they went, to the great hall, and Dondarrion's men were there eating in a big group, eating and drinking and talking…all except Sandor, who was eating by himself at a table. He noticed her by then and he looked at her as she walked across the floor. But then his eyes shifted and they got mad she saw. He stood and yelled.

"You little shit! What in blazes are you doing here?" That was for Tyrion.

"Trying to save Westeros," Tyrion shot back. "And you?"

Sandor still glared at him. "Aye, the same. Because of you I have been cheated of killing my brother."

"It was Oberyn Martell who cheated you, not me. From what I heard, Ser Gregor is not really dead, he just seems that way."

"He's dead."

"Maybe so. And how are you going to save Westeros?"

"We're going to the Wall to fight the demons. What's your great plan for killing the White Walkers? It better not be bloody wildfire."

"Not at all," he said. "But something similar."

Sansa gave him the answer. "Lord Tyrion is an ambassador for Daenerys Targaryen and she is coming to Westeros with her dragons."

"Dragons?" Sandor said, his face getting pale.

"Not to worry, old boy," Tyrion told him. "They will be on our side. Why don't we sit and discuss all this?"

"Yes," Dondarrion said. "I would like to hear more of this queen and her dragons."

But Sansa had heard this story already and wanted to know more about Arya. "Lord Tyrion, why don't you enlighten Lord Beric and his men about your mission? Sandor…I wish to speak to you…alone."

He looked puzzled but merely nodded. "Aye, my lady."

She turned and left the great hall and he followed. She noticed he was limping a bit. "Have you hurt your leg?" she asked, concerned.

"A while back. Got a limp out of it. Where we going?"

"To my solar."

"Your solar?"

"Yes. I am the Lady of Winterfell now my mother is dead."

"Aye, I suppose so."

They were silent as they crossed the courtyard and Sansa could see Brienne and Podrick over by the stables looking their way. Sandor noticed them as well.

"She tell you it all?" he asked.

"Who?"

"Brienne of bloody Tarth. Did she tell you?"

"That you were with Arya? Yes, just now."

Soon they were back in the solar. "Would you like some wine?"

"No."

She sat at her table and he sat opposite. There was that face, that had frightened her so many times and she felt afraid again, but then she remembered where she was and who she was. "Please explain about how you met Arya and what has happened to her."

He talked and part way through he did ask for some wine and she poured for both of them and as he drank all of it came out, how he wanted to ransom Arya, and about the Red Wedding, how close they were, and then the Vale and his fight with Brienne and how Arya refused to kill him when he begged her.

"Gods," Sansa said when he said that. "But…you lived."

"Aye, I lived. A good man found me, and healed me. Made me think there might be some good in the world again. But then someone killed him and I killed them, and now here I am…a killer again." He looked down, and she could tell he was not happy with that.

"Sandor…I…I want to thank you."

Now he looked up, with that look in his eye she used to fear, and once again his rudeness came out when she tried to thank him. "For what? I kidnapped your sister. I tried to ransom her. I even hit her a few times."

"For what?"

"She wanted to kill me. Had to sleep with one eye opened. Had me on her little list."

"Her…what?"

"Her death list. Boy, you sure don't know much. Your sister is a killer. I told you how many she killed."

"But she had to, to defend herself, to help you in that inn."

"Aye, sometimes. But sometimes she killed because they wronged her. That Frey man by the fire I told you about. Was bragging on about how they sewed the direwolf's head to your brother's body. She heard that and decided that man had to die, just like that. And that fat one called Rorge. I never told you about him. He was with her when she escaped from King's Landing in the Night's Watch party. She hated him cause he was a rapist and he cursed her and said he would rape her. So she killed him. Everyone she hated or wronged her and your family she had on a list, and she would say the names before she slept."

Sansa was struggling to believe this of her sister. She knew Arya was wild, but this was hard to accept. "Who was on the list?" she asked.

"Cersei, Joffrey, Ilyn Payne, Walder Frey, Meryn Trant, my brother…me. I forget the rest."

She knew why most of those names were on the list…his as well. "You were there because of the butcher's boy."

"Aye."

"I lied about that."

"What?"

"He never hit Joffrey. It was all my fault. I lied…I'm sorry."

He sighed and drank some wine. "A long time ago, little bird."

"Yes, and now my family is dead or scattered. Do you know where Arya is now?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. She left me for dead. Brienne said she looked for her for three days but never found her."

"Brienne was trying to bring her and me home."

"So she said. I thought she worked for the Lannisters."

"I see you two travel in the same company now. Have you and Brienne reached a truce?"

"We have…for now."

"I forbid you from fighting with her anymore."

He stared at her and then finally nodded. "Aye, my lady."

"I need you both, Sandor. There is a war coming, from the north."

"So we heard. War in the south as well. Is it true what Tyrion said about Daenerys Targaryen?"

"Yes, as far as I know. I hope she finishes her war in the south soon, for we will need her dragons up here."

"They say the Wall has never fallen."

"But what if the red woman is right? What should I do?"

"Send her there," he said without hesitation. "If your brother wants to hang her, let him do the dirty work."

She knew he was right. It would get her out of Winterfell and away from Ser Davos. Send her there…and if she was wrong, if the Wall never fell, Jon could decide what to do with her. But if she was right, then there was no time to lose.

"Will you go with them?"

"Aye. If that is where the fight will be, I will go."

She knew he would not change his mind about that so she said nothing to stop him. But she could at least help him. "There is plenty of armor and weapons here. Tell Lord Beric he and his men can take what they need."

"I will." He stood then and so did she. He started to go but stopped at the door. "I'm sorry for frightening you, the night of the Blackwater." He said it without turning around.

"I'm sorry I didn't go with you."

"Aye. So am I, little bird." Then he left before she could reply.

Later she found Brienne and they talked in Sansa's solar. "I have no excuse for not telling you about Sandor Clegane," Brienne began. "I did not know you knew him or about how he saved you in King's Landing during the riot."

"How do you know that?"

"Podrick told me. I thought Clegane was trying to harm your sister, or use her for his own selfish means."

"He thought the same about you."

"Yes, and then swords we drew and blood as well."

"You will not clash with him in the future."

"Yes, my lady. But he still holds a grudge."

"I have commanded him to do the same."

"Will he obey?"

"He said he would. You are forgiven for this minor lapse, Lady Brienne. If you wish to serve me to the fullest in the future you must trust me with all you know."

"I will, my lady. Thank you, my lady," Brienne said, glowing with that fierce pride she had, and then she stood and dipped her head and left.

Two days later they left for the Wall, all of Lord Beric's brotherhood, better armed and armored, with plenty of supplies for them and the men at the Wall. Sandor left as well as the red woman, still in chains. The guards said she had asked for Sansa many times, but Sansa refused to see her and said not a word to her.

"Fair you well," she said as they left, Sandor giving her one last look before he rode out the gate.

"Did I do the right thing?" she asked Tyrion, who stood by her side with Brienne as well.

"Yes. Let your brother decide her fate. If he wants to be a king, let him make some kingly decisions."

Sansa had given Lord Beric a letter for Jon, explaining her actions, and also explaining that Brienne had acted in good faith, and she had done nothing wrong.

"Is she gone?" Ser Davos asked, suddenly appearing at their side.

"She is," Tyrion said.

"Good riddance," he replied. They had hardly seen him in the few days Melisandre had been in Winterfell.

The next morning they finally got a letter from Jon in reply to hers about Melisandre and about Baelish.

" _Sansa, you must find out the reasons for Brienne's bringing her back to Winterfell and write back. As for Lord Baelish, do nothing for now. Lord Royce and I agree we cannot arrest and try him on such little evidence as we still need the knights of the Vale. Sorry."_

"Well," said Tyrion as they sat in her solar. "It was worth a try."

"Yes," Sansa said. "Now what do we do?"

"Nothing."

"But he still must pay for his crimes."

"Surely," Tyrion said.

"But how?"

"We must wait for Lord Varys and Theon to bear witness."

Three days later, another raven arrived, from Storm's End, for Ser Davos. Baelish, Ser Davos, Brienne, and Tyrion gathered in her solar as she read the note from Ser Courtney Penrose aloud.

" _Both the Reach and Dorne have asked for my support in their war. With no one to give me commands I am uncertain what to do. Therefore, Ser Davos, as you were Hand to King Stannis, your commands I will obey. As for your query, the latest rumor is Daenerys Targaryen's fleet has made it past the Step Stones and is now anchored at Tarth. A Dornish army has already marched up the Kingsroad towards the capital. However, there is bad news. The Lannisters have defeated the Tyrells on the Blackwater, and their army is in retreat. I await your commands, my lord."_

"Bloody fools," Ser Davos cursed. "They rushed in without waiting for their support."

"It seems so," said Baelish, and Sansa wondered what was going through his mind at this news of a setback.

"Why would she sail to Tarth?" Brienne asked, worry in her tone. "We have nothing to offer her."

"A place to rest, far from any battlefield," Tyrion told her. "The Dothraki need to refresh their horses, and the fleet will need water and food. I hope your father will not resist."

"Why would he?" Brienne said, glaring at Tyrion. "He has no love for the Lannisters."

"So, now we know where she is," Sansa said quickly, to get over the awkwardness of the last exchange. "There is only one thing to do. Ser Davos you must write back and ask Ser Courtney to send a message to Tarth to ask the Queen to sail north as soon as she can."

"I highly doubt she would do that," Tyrion said. "She has been dreaming of revenge for a long time now. She will not stop until she has the Iron Throne first. I have a better idea. Ask him to allow her to land at Storm's End or at the safest anchorage nearby. From there she can march up the Kingsroad, and soon enough my sister will be dead, and our new Queen can be crowned and turn her eyes to the war north of the Wall."


	6. Chapter 6

**Game of Thrones Season 7 Chapter 6**

 _Author's Note: Sorry for the delays in publishing this chapter. I was on vacation for two weeks, traveling, and had little time to write. I hope you enjoy it._

 **Tarth – Daenerys**

The fleet was licking its wounds, some caused by Euron Greyjoy, others caused by her dragons. The isle of Tarth was called the sapphire island she was told, for its blue waters, and she could see they were right. The wide bay on the west side of the island gave shelter to much of her fleet, and more ships were down the coast at other inlets and coves. As she gazed out over the fleet from the deck of the _Princess of the Seas_ she felt some guilt, looking at the damage to some of the ships

After the battle they had paused for one day to take stock. Twenty-five ships that were in Euron Greyjoy's fleet either surrendered or were captured, and their captains quickly pledged support to Yara when they learned Euron was dead. Yara had taken his head from his body to show the captains to prove he was truly dead. More wounded and dead had to be dealt with as well, but Dany wanted no more delays and after that brief pause to send the dead into the sea's briny depths, they pushed on for Tarth.

A storm two days later scattered the fleet somewhat, and when it was over Dany went aloft on Drogon to find her scattered ships and bring them together again. She was glad to learn only one ship was missing, though even that one was enough to make her worry on the rest and what would happen if the sea truly showed its awesome power.

Of pirates they had a brief brush, with two fast galleys trying to run down one of her stragglers, but she quickly climbed into the air on Drogon and after one flash of fire, the pirates had scurried back to the hole they had crawled out of.

Now Captain Inesto approached her as she stood on deck looking at the coastline. "Your Grace, a welcoming party approaches."

A small boat was picking its way through the fleet. It stopped at a nearby ship and she could see the men on deck pointing towards her ship and the small boat was soon on its way to her. Dany gazed on the island and the port as she waited with Varys and the captain by her side. The land was green and hilly, and the port town was divided by a river flowing down from the hills. Farms they could see, and orchards with trees in orderly rows, and there high above was a waterfall tumbling over a rocky ledge. The town was small, with perhaps one hundred buildings, made of grey stone it looked like. Dominating the port was a castle, on a bluff to the right.

"Evenfall Hall," Lord Varys said with a nod to the castle. "Home of the Tarth family, lords of this island. Selwyn Tarth is the lord."

"What do we know of him?" she asked.

"A widower, getting on in years but he still enjoys the company of women, and changes them often when he tires of one. Four children he had from his first and only wife, a boy and three daughters. The boy died when he was eight, drowned in this very bay. Two daughters died as infants. The third daughter grew to be tall and strong, more man than woman."

"Brienne of Tarth," she said.

The small boat came alongside. "Permission to come aboard," shouted a voice.

"And who would be asking?" Captain Inesto shouted back.

"Lord Steffan Cortain, castellan of Evenfall." He was old, maybe in his sixties, with a white beard and a balding dome. He wore rich clothing and was a bit wide in the stomach.

Inesto looked to her and she nodded. "Permission granted. But just you," he shouted down to the boat.

Lord Cortain climbed the rope ladder with some difficulty and was soon on deck, puffing for breath. He dipped his head. "My lady, Lord Selwyn Tarth bids you…good gods…"

His eye had fallen on Drogon, asleep on the after deck, and now he stared and sweated.

"Yes," Dany said. "It is a dragon. You were saying?"

"Pardons, my lady…"

"Your Grace is her proper title," Varys said.

Cortain stared at him. "Lord Varys, is it not?"

"It is. May I introduce Queen Daenerys Targaryen."

Again he dipped his head to her. "My lady, forgive my rudeness, but you have not yet been crowned queen of Westeros, so it would be improper to call you 'Your Grace'."

"Understood, my lord," Dany replied, not the least bit angry. "But does that mean your lord supports Cersei Lannister?"

"No, my lady. He has been asked by both sides to send support, but for the moment he is contemplating who to support, or even no one at all. I must say that if you insist on using his men you will receive a cold reception."

"His men I need not," Dany said. "But my fleet requires shelter, provisions, and land for grazing our horses. We will pay for what we need."

"Very good, my lady. However I have no power to say yes or no to you. My lord extends an invitation to you and your commanders for dinner this evening just after sunset. There he will decide these matters."

Later that night Dany, Varys, Theon, Yara, Grey Worm, and Missandei came to the castle with a group of twenty Unsullied as guards. Dany insisted Grey Worm and Missandei be seated as guests and not act like servants for this occasion. They both looked ill at ease, joining the high born guests at table.

Dinner was a fine affair, with plenty of savory dishes and good wines. Lord Selwyn Tarth was a tall, thin man with a greying beard and blue eyes. He was a genial host, and long they talked on Dany's adventures in the east and her plans for Westeros, and though Dany was impatient to get to the matter of supplies, she waited for the right moment.

"Cersei Lannister has no right to the Iron Throne," Lord Tarth said at one point. "And she has proven her unworthiness to rule in many ways. Not least in taking her brother to her bed."

"Would you support my claim?" Dany asked.

"I would be a fool not to, my lady. But few men live in these lands, and fewer still can bear arms. I was asked once by Stannis Baratheon's Onion Knight to join the late Stannis' cause. I refused him, even though long Tarth has been under the sway of the Baratheon family. A lost cause I suspected and I was right. Stannis may have had the right to the throne more than Joffrey and his bastard brother and sister, but Stannis did not have the strength to take it. Nor the guile to defeat Tywin Lannister. Now all who opposed the Lannisters are dead. Ned Stark and his son, Renly Baratheon, Balon Greyjoy, and Stannis. "

"Lord Tywin is dead as well now," Varys pointed out.

"So he is," Lord Tarth said. "Killed by his demon spawn of a son. It seems you have most of Westeros or at least the best part of it for you, my lady. Yet the Lannisters have already showed their claws and beat back Lord Tarly and his Tyrell army at the Blackwater. We even heard rumors that Tarly was captured and his son killed."

This was surprising news to Dany and her captains. "When was the battle, my lord?" Theon asked.

"More than ten days ago now," Lord Tarth replied. "The Tyrells took a beating but they are not defeated. Yet it makes a man feel cautious in these uncertain times."

Dany knew what he wanted and sensed now was the moment she had waited for. "Your island I need, my lord. Its bays and inlets, its water and food and grass. Your soldiers…I fear I have no room on my ships for anymore men."

Lord Tarth stared at her and then gave a short nod. "Very well. You shall have as you asked for, with reasonable terms of payment, of course."

"Of course," Dany said. "We are not looters." Though she knew she could take what she needed by force, it would not be a good way to begin her conquest of Westeros.

After dinner, Varys and the castellan went off to settle the details of the supply matters. Later Dany walked outside on the battlements with Lord Tarth, with her guards hovering nearby. "You must forgive my caution," he said, when they were out of earshot of anyone else. "I know it would be best to join the fight against the Lannisters. But the gods have learned me the folly of not being careful in the past. No sons I have to be my heir. The gods saw to that." His voice was full of regret and bitterness.

"I hear you have a daughter, Brienne."

"I do…wherever she is. A daughter she was born but a daughter the gods saw fit not to give me in all the ways she should have been. She would rather wear mail than silks, and carry a sword more than a sewing needle or a bouquet of flowers. Long ago she left to serve Lord Renly Baratheon, with stars in her eyes and love for him in her heart. That was almost three years ago. I know not even if she lives."

"She does. We have heard she is in the North, my lord, serving the Stark family now."

"Indeed? A strange turn of events." He said no more on the matter though she waited for him to ask her about Brienne.

Dany felt his indifference to his daughter odd. Maybe they had a falling out, but it was not her place to ask. "Perhaps I will see her soon. I have sent an envoy to Winterfell to ask for their support." She did not say it was Tyrion, not after his comment about Tyrion being Lord Tywin's 'demon spawn' at dinner.

"Mayhaps you will get it. Starks hate Lannisters more than most. We have heard Ned Stark's bastard threw over the Boltons. They say he is a true man of battle, this Jon Snow, though hardly twenty name days he has seen."

"Yes, we have heard the same of him. A good ally he will make."

The next day her Dothraki leaders told her it would be best to stay here at least a week or so to let the horses graze and regain their strength and she agreed with their plan, for no one knew horses like they did. Almost every night she dined with Lord Tarth but no more did they speak on his daughter. Varys brought her bits and pieces of news, including some about Brienne.

"The story is old here," he said as they ate breakfast on her flagship one morning. "For years he tried to find a suitable match for her, but each time it ended badly. She is no beauty, I am afraid, and many a young suitor balked at the idea of marriage even though she would stand to inherit all once Lord Tarth passes."

"I am surprised he has not remarried and tried to have more sons if he so worries about his legacy."

"Alas, another tale of woe, Your Grace. His heir drowned when he was a boy, I told you before. A new ship Lord Tarth had ordered built, for his son's name day. When it was setting out on its maiden voyage it sank here in the bay, with almost all on board lost, including the son. Built too top heavy was the word, and when the wind bit the sails the first time it keeled over and never stopped. I have now learned this nearly broke Lord Tarth. For months after he hardly touched food or drink, and his melancholy has never truly ended. I believe he fears such again if he had more sons and the same fate awaited them."

Dany could understand this. She too had lost a child, killed in her womb by a witch woman, and her sadness knew no bounds. She wondered if she would ever bear a child again, and feared it would never come to pass.

"There is more news of Brienne," Varys told her. "Lord Tarth has had word of her, despite what he said to you. All here know she was accused of killing Renly. Lies as far as they are concerned. She loved him and would have died for him, so the castellan told me. Then came the news that she was captured by the Boltons and taken to Harrenhal while escorting Ser Jaime Lannister to King's Landing as a prisoner. They asked Lord Tarth for a ransom. He offered one and they refused it, claiming it was too little. He did not offer more. Later they learned she had escaped and was in King's Landing."

"Strange he would not offer a proper ransom for his only child," Dany said.

"Quite so, Your Grace. I fear there may be little love between father and daughter."

Dany could not disagree as Lord Tarth had showed such indifference to the fate of his daughter.

The next days passed uneventful, with the men busy repairing the fleet and re-supplying as the horses grazed on shore. Then six days later two events came close on each other, events which set the course for the future for Dany and all who followed her.

The first happened in the morning. As Dany and Drogon rose in the fresh cool morning air to exercise and her two other children followed, far out at sea they spotted two ships, just coming over the horizon from the south. As she and her dragons got closer she was shocked to see the sails were in the colors of Meereen with the harpy sigil. As she got lower and flew nearby she could clearly see on deck two men she had never expected to see again…Ser Jorah and Daario.

A few hours later and they stood on the deck of her flagship, both on bended knee before her, as Varys and Grey Worm stood by her side.

"Rise," she commanded. As they stood, her eyes fell on Ser Jorah and then to his left arm, which she could not see as it was covered by his clothing. "You have found a cure?"

"Aye, khalessi," he said. "Fire and pain was the cure, and it near killed me, but the greyscale is gone."

"Show me," she said and he balked but then rolled up his sleeve. She nearly gasped when she saw the scars, the flesh misshapen and in parts still red from burns. "Can you use it?"

"It can hold a shield and I can fight with my right arm as well as ever," he replied.

"Good…for I will need you in the days to come, my strong bear."

His eyes told her all she wanted, for they were alight with a blaze of pride and the love he had for her. Again he would stand by her side, and do all he could to see her find her rightful place on the Iron Throne.

Now her gaze shifted to Daario, and her demeanor changed to coolness. "I commanded you and the Second Sons to hold Meereen. Why have you disobeyed my orders?"

"You left us to rot and die, Your Grace," he said, bold as ever, staring right at her. "My men were growing restless, and would have soon killed me and marched away. We were a foreign occupier and would never have won the love of the people."

"He is not wrong, khalessi," Ser Jorah added. "Seven days you were gone when I returned to Meereen and already they were growing restless. We had to take these two ships by force or we would never have gotten away to follow your path across the seas. Better the Second Sons are with you here than dead in Meereen."

She sighed and knew they were both right, but she feared what would happen in Meereen to those people who had loved her and called her mother in all the tongues of the east.

"Very well," she said at last. "We leave in a day or two for Westeros. Lord Varys will tell you all the news of Westeros and also how to re-supply your ships." She turned on her heel and walked away from them, knowing both men's eyes were on her and knowing both loved her. That was trouble to come for certain.

Later that day she went on shore with Lord Varys to visit Lord Tarth but the guards on the gates informed them he was away for the day. As they were about to leave the castellan Cortain came to them at a run. He pulled out a raven scroll letter and handed it over. "From Storm's End, my lady," he said, trying to catch his breath. "It came just a short time ago."

Varys took it, looked at the unbroken seal with the sigil of House Baratheon. On the parchment was also written Dany's name.

"Thank you, my lord," Dany told Cortain and he dipped his head and withdrew.

Varys opened the letter. "From Ser Courtney Penrose, who holds Storm's End for the Baratheon family."

"Strange he is sending messages to me."

"He writes that he is commanded by Ser Davos Seaworth, former Hand of Stannis Baratheon, to open talks with you. Ser Davos is in the North and now serves as advisor for Jon Snow. He writes that Tyrion has arrived in Winterfell and they have received him as your ambassador. And…oh dear, this is interesting."

After she had read the letter she called all the commanders to come to her ship. By early afternoon they had arrived, including Ser Jorah and Daario.

"What are the White Walkers?" she asked after she told them the news Jon Snow had marched his army to the Wall.

"A myth," Theon Greyjoy said with a slight chuckle. "A tale told by old women, about an army of the dead rising during the coldest winter, led by men made of ice and snow. They live north of the Wall."

"That's why the Wall was built, some say," Ser Jorah added. "To keep the White Walkers up there."

Yara Greyjoy snorted. "It's all just stories the Northerners use to frighten their children."

"Maybe not," said Varys. "Your Grace, Jon Snow was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He would have first hand knowledge of the situation at and above the Wall. Why would he go chasing myths unless there was some truth to them?"

"It's madness," said Grey Worm. "How can a man be made of ice and snow?"

No one had an answer to that. Dany looked at Theon. "What can you tell us about Jon Snow? His character, I mean."

"Quiet, he always was," said Theon. "Lady Stark never had any love for her husband's bastard, so Jon was always pushed aside, even more so than me. Lord Stark treated him well enough, and he got on with the children, especially Robb and Arya. A good fighter, a least in the practice yard. Maybe more than that now by the news we have heard. Not a fool, if that's what you are asking, Your Grace. Not one to chase shadows and ghosts."

Dany thought on this and then looked at Ser Jorah. "You are the only one here from the North. What do you think of all this?"

"The Wall is tall and stout," he said. "But all the stories of the Walkers and what they did eight thousand years ago…it makes me advise caution, khalessi. If the Wall does not hold them, all of Westeros might be peril."

"You think they are real?" Daario asked, his skepticism clear.

Ser Jorah nodded. "Aye, maybe so. Theon Greyjoy is right. Ned Stark did not raise any fools in his home. If Jon Snow took his army to the Wall, he would have a damn good reason to do so."

Dany listened and then decided. "We must leave as soon as possible." She spoke swiftly to her Dothraki leaders and after they answered her she nodded. "They say in two days the horses will be fed and rested enough." She looked at Captain Inesto. "Captain, make plans for landing in Westeros."

"Where, Your Grace?"

"There is no time for caution anymore," she replied. "If what is happening in the North is true, we must be ready for it. The only way to do that is to destroy our enemies here first. We sail for King's Landing. And once Cersei Lannister is defeated, we will sail or march to the North and the Wall if need be."

* * *

 **King's Landing – Cersei**

"Her heart finally gave out," said Qyburn. "That is my opinion, Your Grace. When the gaoler checked on her this morning she was dead."

"A shame," said Cersei, as she lay back in her bathtub. "I so wanted to see her face when she died screaming. Burn the body. Except the head, or what's left of it. Tar it and put in on a spike over the front gates. A reminder to all those who dare think on crossing my family."

"If I may, Your Grace, I would like the body. It would aid me in my studies."

"As you wish," Cersei replied as she stood up, stepped out of the tub, and dried herself with a towel. "Hand me my robe."

He did so, and seemed unaffected by her nakedness. She pulled on her robe and looked at him. "I suppose a naked body is nothing new to you."

"I have seen many, Your Grace, in all shapes and sizes and states of life and death."

Cersei stepped to her side table and poured some wine. "Do you ever partake of the flesh, in the more carnal ways?"

"In my youth I had the tastes of all men, Your Grace. But as time went on I found it distracted me from my work."

"No wife? No children?"

"Never."

"Where are you from?"

"The Reach, near Ashford."

"Family?"

"I had a mother and a father as all do, and an older brother and a sister. My parents have passed. My sister is married with children, to a cobbler. My brother owns the family farm, and is married as well. Or at least that was the state of affairs more than ten years ago. I have not seen or heard of them since."

Cersei was sitting on her divan by now. She sipped her wine and stared at him. "The Reach?"

He knew what she was thinking. "I am dedicated to you, Your Grace. And as you know, when we join the Citadel we cast off all family ties and other loyalties."

"Yes…forgive me. I have so few people I can rely on. You and Jaime are the only two I trust completely. Do you know why?"

"Yes, Your Grace," he said. "If we lose, there will be no mercy for us three."

"Yes. They will hang us, or chop our heads off, or something far worse."

"Then we had better make sure we don't lose. The Tyrells are in retreat, so that is one good point, Your Grace."

She sighed. "We have won a small victory. The war is not over yet. You said Daenerys Targaryen was in Tarth?"

"That is the latest news. Replenishing her fleet and resting her army after such a long sea voyage, no doubt. The Dornish are south of the Blackwater, encamped in the Kingswood, but have not advanced to the river yet. Our forces are in strength blocking the main bridges, and the lower Blackwater has no bridges. The current is strong and the Dornish have no boats to cross over. They are waiting for their allies it seems. The Tyrell army is gathered near Tumbleton, licking their wounds, and gathering reinforcements. In the North it seems Lord Tarly was correct. Jon Snow and the Vale marched almost all their forces to the Wall. More went by ship from White Harbor to Eastwatch."

"Chasing ghosts."

"Hard to say, Your Grace. But it seems there may be something to this. Jon Snow and Lord Royce and the rest do not seem like rash men to me, not based on their achievements so far. They would not march their army away from Winterfell unless they had good reason."

"Good reason or not, it still means nothing to us. Let them chase their ghosts, real or not. At least they are not marching south towards us."

"Of course, Your Grace."

"What word is there of Tyrion?"

"He was in White Harbor, and they sent him on to Winterfell. But I have no little birds in the Stark home."

"He is there by now," Cersei said, feeling her anger rising. "Conspiring with his whore of a wife and the traitorous rat Baelish. If he still lives. Any word on that?"

"The bird has not come back, and I know not if Lord Baelish is still their ally or an enemy."

"If the Vale is at the Wall with Snow then they are still allies."

"That seems correct, Your Grace."

"And what of Arya Stark?"

"No word, I am afraid. I have sent messages far and wide in the Riverlands promising a reward of one hundred gold for her, captured alive. They will post notices and have them read in all towns and villages."

"Good."

"More good news I have. Ser Gregor seems unaffected by his wounds in the late battle."

"Jaime had no right to send him into combat," she replied, her anger rising again. "I ordered him to protect Jaime, not charge the enemy."

"It seems he was instrumental in the Tyrell ranks cracking, Your Grace. And he disabled Lord Tarly, allowing him to be captured."

"Tell Jaime I want him back."

"Of course, Your Grace."

Just then one of guards came in. "Lord Jaime to see you, Your Grace."

She nodded and Jaime came in. "I want Ser Gregor back," she said right away without even a hello.

Jaime paused. "He is all yours, sister dear. But I would like to borrow him again when the time comes to attack the Dornish. Nothing inspires fear more than a man who can't be killed."

She stared at him. "We'll see. Why have you come?"

"We have guests," he said. "The Freys have finally arrived. Late, as usual."

"How many men did they bring?" she asked.

"Four thousand."

"Not enough."

"Better than none," Jaime replied. "We cannot be fussy with so few allies."

"I suppose I should receive their leaders." Cersei said, already exhausted by the thought.

Qyburn nodded. "It would seem proper, Your Grace. Shall we say one hour, in the throne room?"

"Yes. But no feasts, no parades for them. Send them to the field, Jaime. Let them prove their worth before we do them any honors."

"I heartily agree," Jaime said.

"Good," she replied and then looked towards her Hand. "Lord Qyburn, I wish to speak to my brother alone. Come for me when they are ready in the throne room."

He dipped his head and left. She stood, still only in her robe, and walked towards Jaime. She could see him tensing up already. "Not to worry, brother. I would not try to seduce you in daylight when anyone may walk in."

"Cersei, I have said how I feel about all this."

"Yes, you did. And I still believe you will come back to me. Before it is too late." She suddenly felt the pinpricks of tears beginning to form behind her eyes but shrugged them off. "Soon we will be dead, Jaime."

"Not if we win. We beat the Tyrells."

"One battle. Five thousand dead, Qyburn said. I am sure ten times that number is already marching from Highgarden to replace them. They will not make the same mistakes twice. The Dornish are near, the Targaryen girl is in Tarth. What hope do we have?"

"We are planning to smash the Dornish next."

"It's not enough. Qyburn has learned more from his friends in Lys. They have heard of events in Meereen. How she used her dragons to burn an enemy fleet and force them all to surrender to her will. There is also news of Euron Greyjoy. He tried to trap her in the Step Stones, for what reason we know not. The details are few but again it seems her dragons prevailed and wrecked half his fleet and the rest joined her. Qyburn now believes the rest of the ironmen are united behind the Greyjoy children."

"Gods," Jaime said. "If this is all true…"

She sat back on the divan but he remained standing. "Yes, if…and why would it not be? Everything else is true. We have no hope against dragons. I can see it now. The city in flames, the people panicking, begging us to end it, our brave men fleeing as well. Then they will drag us into the streets and rip us to shreds. I will kill myself first. A month or less and we are finished."

"Not yet. We can escape," he said, a fierce light in his eyes now. "The free cities are not that far away. Pentos, or Braavos maybe. With our gold…"

"It is all in Casterly Rock, and less now than before, so Father informed me before he died. Our gold mines have run dry as well."

He was surprised at this news. "I did not know."

"Yes, it seems we are not so rich after all. And if we managed to escape, what would we do? What did Robert call Viserys Targaryen? The Beggar King? Is that what will happen to us? Seeking to build an army to get revenge on our enemies? How can we hope to build an army if we abandon the one we already have?"

"Then we don't abandon them. But we can't stay here. Each battle we win still weakens us further. Four thousand Freys hardly makes up for our dead and wounded from our victory over the Reach."

"Where can we go?"

"Home. The road is still open to Casterly Rock. We still have the resources of the West. Soon winter will be here. The Rock is well supplied and can withstand years of siege if need be, while our enemies freeze and starve outside. This cesspool will fall in days, especially if the people rise against us."

"The Iron Throne is here."

"It's just a chair."

"How can I be Queen if I am not here?"

"Cersei…soon you will no longer be Queen, no matter what we do. But we can still live, for years to come."

"I have no life without you in my arms," she gasped, not looking at him, all her facade of toughness gone, knowing the end was so near, and now the tears came…and so did he.

He sat and touched her shoulder with his good hand. She reached up and gripped it tight and turned to look at him. "Jaime, why has this happened to us? Why have the gods cursed us?"

"To hell with the gods," he said. "They have never answered our prayers. We must act, soon, or we are finished."

She leaned forward and their lips touched, briefly…but he pulled back. "Cersei…"

"I will stay here and die if I cannot be with you again," she said, her eyes full of tears, and then his will broke and he kissed her, fiercely, and picked her up, and carried her to the next room and they did what the gods meant man and woman to do, and when it was done, and both were spent, she spoke. "I will leave…if you are with me."

"When?" he asked as he sat up on the side of the bed and began to dress, having difficulty, still not used to dressing with one hand. She sat up and helped him.

"You decide," she replied as she helped him put on his shirt.

"Soon. At night, with no moon. Maybe two days from now. The bulk of the army is already to the west by the bridge. We leave the gold cloaks to hold the city. In a week or ten days of hard marching we will be at the Rock."

"What if they follow?"

"They will, but not fast enough. The Tyrells are still recovering. The Dornish are in the Kingswood. I think it is time the Freys proved they can do more than kill a man and his mother at dinner. I will send them across the river to harass the Dornish and distract them. By the time they realize we have left we will be far away."

"There are only four thousand of them. Surely they will be defeated."

Jaime grunted. "Good. Four thousand less mouths to feed." He stood. "I must make plans."

"Will you come back tonight?"

He hesitated and then nodded. "Yes." And then when he finished dressing he was gone.

She reclined back in her bed and felt content. She had her brother, her lover, back at last. He was right about leaving, she knew, though she did not want to. Maybe in the end they would die anyway. But if it meant a few more years of life with him at her side, she cared not for this stinking city and that ugly chair. She had wanted power, but through her son, not by herself, alone and hated by all. She had killed those who had wanted to diminish her life and remove her from Tommen's life. But when Tommen died as well, she had to step forward. And now it was all going to pieces.

Cersei cleaned herself and got dressed and then went to the balcony and looked over the city and as she saw it in all its ugliness and smelled its foulness and remembered how they had humiliated her she knew what she wanted to do. A few moments later Qyburn came back.

"It is time to meet the Frey commanders, Your Grace."

"When we are done with them you will begin to prepare to leave the city."

"Yes, Your Grace," he said without hesitation. "May I ask when and where I will be going?"

"We are going," she said. "All of us, me, you, Jaime, my guards, the army, we are all going, far away. Soon, I will tell you the details. But we must make some preparations. Leave behind all that is unnecessary. My things as well. My clothing and my jewelry is all I need. Tell no servants, do it yourself. Collect as much coin as you can from the vaults. You will have a royal warrant to do so."

"Yes, Your Grace. Unfortunately, there is not much coin in the vaults."

"Take it all then."

"Yes, Your Grace. Will you be taking your royal carriage?"

She almost said yes, but then knew it would be very conspicuous. "No. I will go by horseback, as will you. One more thing. How much wildfire do we have?"

"Plenty, Your Grace. More hidden caches we are finding every day. King Aerys hid much under most of the key buildings and the main streets."

"Including the Red Keep?"

"Yes."

"Good. When we leave, I want you to set it all off."

"All of it?" he asked, an evident eagerness in his voice.

"Yes. The dragon queen wants to burn this city, so we'll do it for her. She will be the queen of ashes and bones, for that is all I will leave her."

* * *

 **The Riverlands – Arya**

"How is he?" Hot Pie asked as he entered the room.

"Better," said Arya. "Right?"

"Yeah, loads better," Gendry said from the bed. "Thanks."

Hot Pie grinned as he put the tray down with the food on a small table. "Just like old times."

"The pack back together," Arya said as Gendry sat up and began to eat some soup.

Two days they had been here, after riding through the cold and snow to find help for a feverish Gendry. The old woman who ran the inn and two armed men came out as their horses pulled up outside the inn and they helped Gendry off of his. The innkeeper was heavy and grey haired, with tired eyes. She was wearing a food stained apron. She took one look at them and knew they were trouble.

"Sorry, can't help you," she said when Arya asked if there was a maester or a healer nearby.

"Please," Arya said. "We can pay."

She thought about it. "How'd he get hurt?"

"Outlaws," Bronn told her. "Was six of them on the road, two nights ago."

"Was?" one of the men asked.

"Aye, was. Now they're feeding the crows."

The old woman stared at them. "Who are you? Where you coming from?"

"Just traveling folk," Bronn told her.

She snorted. "I hear there is a reward for three traveling folk. A sellsword knight, a big smith, and a young girl…named Arya Stark."

"So we heard," Bronn said and Arya saw his hand reach behind his back for his fighting knife as she helped support Gendry by herself. And just when she thought it would get violent Hot Pie saved them all from some blood.

"Arya!" he shouted as he came around the corner with a sack of flour over his shoulder. "Gendry?"

"It's Hot Pie," Gendry said, mumbling his words. "Look Arya, it's Hot Pie."

She thought they were in trouble, and so did Bronn, still ready to fight, but the old woman's demeanor changed. "So, you are Arya Stark."

She sighed. "I am."

"Quick, in with you. Hot Pie, take them round back, the upper room in the corner. Tom, see to their horses. Bill, make sure the road is clear."

Later, the old woman came to the room, where Gendry lay on the only bed. She cleaned his wound and put a poultice on his leg. "It's not too bad. Here, drink this," she said to Gendry and he made a face as he sipped down the hot brew.

"Gods, it's awful," he said, coughing.

"If it tasted good it wouldn't take down your fever. Rest, lad. You two come with me."

They went out in the corridor. "Name is Marsha Heddle and maybe the only one round here don't mean trouble for you three. There's folks all over here would turn you lot in for that reward."

"How much?" Bronn asked.

"Hundred gold."

"Might turn myself in for that much," Bronn said.

Marsha chuckled. "You I remember now. The day Lady Stark took the Imp."

"Aye, I was here."

Now her look shifted to Arya. "Was a terrible thing what those Freys done to your mother and brother. I wept when I heard it. Manys a time your grandfather, your mother, and her brother and sister stayed here when Lord Tully was traveling the Riverlands. Now they are dead and your Uncle Edmure is a prisoner of the Freys."

"Good," she said, angry. "He betrayed his family when he let the Freys take Riverrun. He should have died first."

"Child, do not be too harsh. Not everyone can be brave when faced with death."

"Sorry, but I can't help but feel he betrayed the family."

"He knows it and will suffer all the rest of his years for it. Well, let me show you to some rooms."

"I will stay with Gendry," Arya said.

"Let him rest," the innkeeper said and she relented. She showed them two rooms, across from each other, small, but private. The inn was mostly empty she said, with few travelers, what with the cold, outlaws on the roads, the Brotherhood, and the Freys still looking for who killed their lord.

"An empty inn is a poor inn," she lamented. "Still, best you stay up here and don't go wandering about. There's a privy closet at the end of the hall and a bath as a well." She sniffed the air. "You sure could use it. Hot Pie will bring you food in a bit."

"And wine," Bronn said. He flipped her a gold piece. She caught it and looked at him. He grinned and handed over one more. She still looked and Bronn chuckled and handed over one more. "Any more and you'll near ruin us."

She took them and put them in her apron pocket one by one. "One for the rooms for three days. One for the lad's healing. One for your food and drink."

"Fair enough," Bronn said. "And no more questions asked."

"Not to worry. Questions just bring answers that I have no business knowing."

That was two days ago. Now Gendry was feeling better, the fever gone, and the leg wound healing. Arya spent her days with him, and Hot Pie when he was not working, which was not often as the inn was mostly empty. She told Hot Pie much of what happened to them, but left out exactly what she had been doing in Braavos. Her tale of working as a shellfish seller made him laugh. She did tell him she killed Polliver, since he saw her one morning with Needle in hand practicing in her room and asked her how she got it back.

Now Gendry was mending she was feeling better, feeling like the pack was coming together, and she wanted Hot Pie to come with them.

She told him what she was thinking. "You should come to Winterfell with us, Hot Pie."

"Sorry, but no. I mean, thanks, but I'd rather stay here. Got a warm bed, lots to eat. It's far to Winterhell, ain't it?"

"Winterfell, not hell," Arya almost shouted at him. "Yes, it's far and it'll be cold…but you'll be safe. Safer than here."

"What? After all you two been through, I think this place is much safer."

"Maybe," said Arya, knowing he was right. "I just, I have to go home."

"Hey, I forgot!" Hot Pie said suddenly. "Was someone here looking for you."

"When were they looking for us?" Gendry asked, suddenly alert for danger.

"Not the two of you, just Arya. About more than a year ago…maybe longer. Was a tall blond woman, and she wore armor, so I guessed she was a knight and…"

"Was a black haired man in red leather armor with her?" Arya asked.

"Yeah. How did you know?"

"Cause they found me."

"Oh. What happened?"

"I didn't trust them so I ran away."

"They seemed nice enough. Did they find your sister?"

"What?"

"They said they was looking for Sansa Stark. I mean, that's who they were really looking for. I guess that was your sister."

"Don't know if they found her," said Arya. "I haven't seen Sansa in years. That's why we are going to Winterfell. My family…what's left of them…is there."

The next day they prepared to leave just before sunset. Marsha Heddle sold them some more food, but had little to spare. "Might be better you wait till day to travel," she said.

"Too many looking for us," said Bronn.

"There's worse than men out there," she replied. "A pack of wolves bigger than anyone has ever seen is roaming the Trident. Led by a big she-wolf people say. They ain't afraid of no one."

Arya got a sudden jolt when she said this. "Is Castle Darry near here?"

"Yes. The pack of wolves attacked some people there and killed four men and their horses.

"Gods," said Gendry. "Maybe we should travel by day."

"Maybe," said Bronn. "How far to the Trident?" he asked the innkeeper.

"Day's ride."

"Who holds the Ruby Ford now?"

"The Lannisters. Got men on both banks I heard."

That was not good, Arya thought. On the way south she had gotten across easily, in a farmer's wagon, just rolled across the Ruby Ford, the waters only a few feet deep, with only two guards on the north and south banks. "How will we get across the river?" she asked.

"There's the ferry at Lord Harroway's Town," Bronn said but the innkeeper shook her head. "Held by the Frey's now. All the land from the Ruby Ford to Riverrun is in their hands now, or their bannermen's."

"Is there any other way across?" Gendry asked.

"No," Marsha Heddle told them. "The water's running deeper now, too, what with the snows and rains of late."

"Well, we won't get across standing around here," Bronn said. "Many thanks, and all the best to you and yours."

"You as well," the innkeeper said and then Hot Pie was there, looking at them with sadness in his eyes. In his hands he had something wrapped in a cloth and when he unwrapped Arya saw it was a direwolf pastry, same as he had baked for her before.

"This one's better," he said as he handed it to her. "Good luck. I hope you make it to Winterh...fell."

To his surprise she gave him a big hug. "You're welcome there anytime."

Gendry shook his hand. "Seems like we done this before."

"Yeah. You know you could stay here. They got a forge out back and travelers always need horses shoed and such.'

Gendry stole a look at Arya and then shook his head. "Naw. Lannisters want me, too. Best I move on."

"Yeah. Well, all the best," Hot Pie said.

In the growing darkness they rode up the muddy Kingsroad and away from the inn, once more saying goodbye to their friend and once more on the way to Winterfell. How they would get there was the big question now.

The sky was cloudy and the darkness was almost total and they had trouble finding their way. Slowly they moved and by dawn they were all tired. Bronn noticed a slight tree covered hill on the left side of the road and they moved that way, reaching it as the sun rose on another cold, gloomy day.

They tied their horses to a tree and as Bronn climbed another tree for a better look around, Arya insisted she inspect Gendry's leg wound. "It's too cold to take off my breeches,' he complained.

"Just do it," she said in a stern voice and he reluctantly obeyed. She looked at the bandages and saw there was no blood and she smelled it and smelt no corruption.

"I see the Trident," said Bronn from above.

"How far?" Arya asked.

"A mile, maybe more."

"Any people?"

"There's a village, few houses, smoke from some chimneys."

"Soldiers?" Gendry asked as he pulled up his breeches.

"Can't see any," Bronn said. "Don't mean they ain't there. We'll stay here till dark. No fires."

All day they huddled in the copse, trying to keep warm and to sleep. When Bronn went on guard duty Arya and Gendry lay in their lean-to shelter and fell asleep, his arm draped across her, and she felt warm from his touch.

Arya tried to reconcile her feelings for Gendry with her desire to go it alone and seek revenge on all those who had harmed her family. For a long time now she had been on her own, trying to survive, and often she had been scared, so being with someone was good. No, that was not right. She hadn't been alone that much. She had been with Hot Pie and Gendry and Yoren and Lommy and the others in the Night's Watch party. And then the Lannisters had them. Then the Brotherhood. After that she was with the Hound. And in Braavos she was only alone for a few days before entering The House of Black and White. Having someone with you made life so much better.

But already she had brought danger once more into Gendry's life. Maybe he would have been better off back in King's Landing. Or maybe not, for war was coming to the city, and a man his size would have had a spear trust into his hands sooner or later. As she drifted off to sleep her mind whirled on all these things.

Dreams came to her, like they always did, and sometimes the dreams were bad. She was running, in the rain, and the Hound was chasing her, hitting her over the head, carrying her away…from her mother and brother, whose names she had been shouting. Now she was in Braavos, and she was a blind beggar again, and people were laughing and talking all around her but she was alone…and then something hit her in the face, and she was no longer blind. She was running through the streets, and the Waif was after her, a bloody dagger in her hands, smiling in her creepy way, and she caught up to Arya and in the darkness Arya fought and fought and…now she was running once more, and she smelled damp earth, and moss, and trees, and…horseflesh. She was running, low to the ground, and around her were many of her friends, her pack, growling and sniffing and they all caught the scent.

And then Arya howled.

"Wake up!" Bronn was shouting. "Wake the fuck up! Wolves!"

They scrambled to their feet, and it was dark now, almost night, and it was raining, and now Arya heard the howls, coming from nearby.

"RIDE!" Bronn shouted as he leaped for his horse. In moments they were riding through the woods and the falling rain came down harder, and there was the Kingsroad, and behind them came the wolves.

Arya looked back and could not believe how many there were. A dozen, no, maybe twenty or more, all running up the road towards them faster and faster. And at their head was the biggest wolf Arya had ever seen. No, not a wolf…a direwolf.

Nymeria.

"It's Nymeria!" she shouted.

"Who?" Gendry shouted back.

"My direwolf! It's my pet direwolf!"

"It still wants to eat us!" Bronn yelled. "Ride! For the Ruby Ford!"

In a few moments they were in the village, and ahead was the light from torches flickering in the rain, and two men in Lannister colors were standing before a wooden post barrier. "HALT!" one shouted.

But Bronn did not halt, and rode straight for the barrier, his sword out now, and Arya and Gendry pulled out their swords as well. Bronn swung and hit one man with his sword and then his horse was leaping over the barrier. The other man ran away from them and began shouting for help as Arya and Gendry's horses somehow leaped over the barrier as well. More men poured from the houses, but they rode as fast as they could through the village to the river.

And behind them came the howls. And then screams, as the wolves were among the men, and Arya took one look back, and saw men dying as the wolves snarled and wrapped their jaws around legs and arms and throats.

Already Bronn's horse was in the river, and it was deep, and swift, but Arya and Gendry plunged in after him. Their horses struggled to find footing and they were carried downriver some and then Arya's horse touched bottom and surged forward. It seemed to take forever, but finally they were on the far side and up on the riverbank, about fifty yards downstream to the right from the Kingsroad. Back by the road on the north bank were more men, looking across the river at the noise and carnage, and then downstream towards them. Some started their way, on foot, at a run.

"Ride!" Bronn said, and downstream they went, along the shoreline, on the riverbank and then the trees began to get closer to the river so Bronn turned off into the forest. On they moved, until it got too thick to ride well.

"Off we go," Bronn said quietly and they climbed down. "Gendry, take the horses behind that fallen tree. Arya, with me."

They moved without questioning him, valuing his experience in battle. He slipped behind a thick tree on the left, while she did the same on the right, and then they waited. In a few moments Gendry came back and stood with her. She put her fingers to her lips and he nodded as he readied his sword.

They did not have to wait long. They heard people walking through the woods. "I told you they went this way," said a voice.

"And I say they went down by the riverbank," said another.

"Fuck," cursed a third. "These woods are too fuckin' thick, can't see shit in this darkness. Might be we turn back."

"We're supposed to guard the ford," said the first voice again. "If we let three riders across without knowing who they is we ain't doing our job, now is we?"

"What's killing the Lannisters across the river might come for us too."

"It's wolves. Can wolves swim?"

"Don't know."

"Fuck the Lannisters. Always giving us the snub. Fighting the whole kingdom. Going to get us all killed some day, they is."

"Right you are," said Bronn as he stepped out and stabbed a man in the guts. Arya was already moving before he was done, and she stabbed her target in the shoulders, chest, and throat, four times, four quick jabs from Needle, before he could even move, and he fell groaning, spurting blood. The third man started to run but Bronn caught him by the surcoat from behind and cut his throat wide open and dropped him to the ground.

The groaning man died as Gendry slammed his sword into his throat and near cut his head off.

"Freys," said Bronn as he bent close to the bodies, in the darkness, and examined the sigil on their bloody surcoats.

"They have ring mail on," Gendry said as he looked at the dead man at his feet. Under their surcoats they had on leather shirts with bronze rings embedded.

"Take it," Bronn told them and soon they had two coats of ring mail, one for Arya and one for Gendry. Bronn refused to take the third coat, said he moved faster without it. Arya almost refused as well, but then remembered the pain of the Waif's knife and pulled the ring mail shirt on over her bottom layer of clothes after they cleaned the blood off of it. It was too long and more than a bit heavy, and it hadn't saved the Freys, but she still felt better having it on.

"Let's move before any of their friends come," Bronn said.

They had to walk their horses through the thick woods, and after a long while they finally came to a clearing and had a rest. They drank some water and ate a bit of bread. It was so dark they could barely see anything, but Bronn had an instinct for this kind of traveling and sure enough he led them due west and back to the Kingsroad, far north of the Trident.

As they mounted their horses, Arya looked back south and gave a sigh. "Nymeria."

"Was it her?" Gendry asked. She had told him the story of Nymeria more than once in the past when they had roamed these lands together.

"Yes."

Bronn spoke. "Tyrion told me you Starks all had pet direwolves. She yours, was she?"

"Yes, she was. Maybe we can…"

"No," Bronn said. "She may have been your pet once, but now she is wild. Might kill you as well as us."

Arya felt he was wrong, but to go back that way meant possibly facing more men at the river. And Nymeria did have plenty of wild wolves with her. "Let's go," was all she said and once more they moved north, Winterfell closer with every step they took.

* * *

 **Winterfell – Tyrion**

The days were long and boring for Tyrion Lannister, but the nights were better, for he had resumed his old ways, and the whores who lived in the small town outside Winterfell's gate profited from his appetites. Some he knew from his last visit years ago and they gladly took him into their beds. Coin he had now, for Sansa had generously allowed him to trade in his eastern coins for those of the west, at a good rate her steward set, though Tyrion felt the man did not have much experience of eastern coin as he looked curiously at the ones Tyrion gave him.

After Tyrion was sated once more, he bid goodnight to the elderly proprietress. "Come again my lord," she said with a smile as she showed him the door.

"Oh, I shall," he said with a grin. In the east he had stayed away from whores, memories of Shae too strong, but he had been too many long lonely months by himself, and his desires needed an outlet, especially since it seemed like death was stalking them all these days.

He was about to leave when the door opened and with the blast of cold air in walked Littlefinger with two men of the Vale behind him. "Ah, Lord Tyrion. And how fairs your evening?"

"Fine, thank you very much," Tyrion said, trying to keep his anger at a simmer every time he saw the man and he was still not in chains or minus a head. "Don't tell me you own this place as well as all those in King's Landing?"

"This so happens to be one of the few I do not own," Baelish said. "As for my establishments in King's Landing, now that your sister has branded me a traitor I can't expect to see any coin from them in the future."

"Pity," Tyrion said. "Though I would not worry. You always seem to land on you feet somehow."

"Yes, and so do you it seems. I would so like to hear more tales of your travels in the east. And of our future queen."

"Another time, perhaps. My bed awaits me. And what awaits you here?"

He grinned. "The usual. Like you, I have tastes for the female form and it has been too long since my dear wife leaped to her death. Good night."

Tyrion nodded and left, and as he walked back into the castle he knew Littlefinger was lying, on more than one point in his conversation. For one, Tyrion knew he had pushed his wife to her death. He had also noticed the proprietress suddenly stiffened as Littlefinger had entered and she seemed about to dip her head to him, but something stopped her. That meant the establishment was his, or at least he had a piece of it. For another, Tyrion had heard years ago the rumor that Littlefinger did not take pleasures of the flesh from any whores. He liked to watch, the rumor said, but to actually fornicate with his women was something he never did. Tyrion also knew why he liked to watch, and again it was not for pleasure. He liked to know what people's tastes were like, and then he could use this knowledge to please them or to ensnare them in some way.

As he made his way to the great hall, another thought came to him. Littlefinger had someone in his employ outside the walls of Winterfell. Such a person could be sending messages out as well. He would have to find a way to keep a closer eye on Littlefinger's doings. How was the question.

In the great hall he found a servant and asked for some wine. She barely nodded her head, and said not a word, and went off. He sat by himself in the near empty hall and when she returned she plunked the wine jug and a cup on the table and again said not a word.

Tyrion knew why. He was not loved here, and had felt the coldness of the people from the first. While Sansa had been genial, the rest were not. Ser Davos had his reasons for hating him, and Littlefinger was an enemy as far as Tyrion was concerned. The common folk of the North hated the Lannisters for many reasons. For one, their lady had been forced to marry him, the ugly Imp, and though they had never lain together as man and wife no one here knew that. Then there was fact that his father had orchestrated the Red Wedding, cause enough to hate his family, even though he had killed his father. That also seemed to be a reason to despise him, for kinslayers were cursed in the eyes of gods and men, as Ser Wylis so told him. Yet, they hated him for even more. The old taint of the accusation made against him was still there. They still thought he had something to do with the man attacking Bran and Catelyn Stark.

He had walked around the castle and looked at the places where Sansa had told him the crime had taken place. The burnt library, now repaired, the room where Bran had been attacked, and the stable, where later he heard they found a sack of silver buried in the straw. No one knew who the footpad was, and it seemed he was just a man who had joined up with Robert's entourage as they made their way north. He was now buried in the lichyard outside the castle walls.

As Tyrion drank his wine he thought on who could have paid the man. Baelish was the first name to come to mind but he was in King's Landing when all this happened. He only heard the news when Lady Stark came to the city with the dagger in hand. He saw it and immediately accused Tyrion of being the owner. Baelish saw an opportunity and took it. A significant part in this drama, but he did not pay the killer.

Who would have a grudge against Brandon Stark? There was Jaime and Cersei of course, for the boy had lived after Jaime had pushed him. Though his brother and sister had never admitted to it, Tyrion was almost certain that was what happened. Couldn't keep their hands off each other and now the realm was paying for that foolishness. And he had almost paid for it with his life.

He had gone to that tower where Bran had fallen as well, the oldest tower in the castle. The outside was almost like a broken cliff face, with many places to put hands and feet when one climbed. And everyone said the boy was a great climber. The top room in the tower was accessible by a door and a window. The boy had been found broken in body but still alive directly below that window. Tyrion could see how it all happened and cursed. If only he had insisted Jaime come on the hunt with them, then maybe none of this would have happened.

No, some of it would have happened. Jon Arryn was still dead. He thought Jaime and Cersei had done that as well. But that was Baelish and Lysa Arryn. Maybe. She had said to Sansa that all those who stood between her and Petyr were dead, and she named three people – her husband, her father, and her sister, and they were all dead now. And then she said she had lied and killed for Petyr. Who had Lysa Arryn killed? No one, as far as Tyrion knew. But Sansa and he both reached the same conclusion. She must have meant Jon Arryn. And then Baelish pushed her out the moon door. Gods, he would have loved to have seen that. He knew why Baelish had done it. She was babbling on, Sansa said, about things she shouldn't have been babbling on about. And Baelish could not take the chance she would babble to the wrong person, like Lord Royce.

His cup was empty, the jug of wine half so already, and he had reached no conclusions. He knew what his father would have done. Arrest Baelish, try him, and hang him, and he would not have given a fig for his allies or what anyone else thought. His father had been great for that, making decisions and sticking to them.

"My lord?" said a voice and Tyrion grinned.

"Ah, Podrick. Sit, drink."

"Sorry, my lord, but Lady Brienne does not like it when I drink too much."

"Yes, well, sit anyways. So, tell me, how has it been serving the great warrior woman?"

He shrugged and then sat. "Not so bad. Kind of hard at first. I didn't know much. And we were roughing it. She didn't really want me to be with her. Ser Jaime kind of forced me on her, to get me out of the city."

"Gods, I believe that is more that you said in your years of service with me at one time."

Pod laughed a bit. "Maybe, my lord. Oh, I forgot to tell you. We did see Bronn. At Riverrun, at your brother's side."

"Ah, and how is the black hearted rogue?"

"Same as always."

"He'll never change.'

Pod frowned a bit. "He said something strange. About Brienne and Ser Jaime…well…"

"Well what?"

"He said something about them maybe…maybe fucking."

Tyrion nearly spit up his wine. "He said that?"

"Yes."

"How odd. Do you think there is anything to it?"

Pod shrugged. "Don't know."

"I wonder why Bronn thought that."

"Might be he's wrong. I mean, I know she maybe loved Renly, not Ser Jaime. The Hound said that more than once."

"Yes, she was devoted to Renly I heard. Ah, here she comes. Why don't we ask her ourselves?"

He turned red. "No, please…"

"Lady Brienne, do join us."

"Lady Sansa and Ser Davos are looking for you, my lord," Brienne said. "A bird arrived before sundown from Storm's End."

"Good news I hope."

"I do not know the letter's contents. I have been looking for you for the past hour. They are waiting for you in Lady Sansa's solar. Podrick, it is time you were in bed."

"Yes, my lady." He stood up to go.

"So, my lady," said Tyrion as he stood, bit unsteady. "Are the rumors about you and my brother true?"

She had turned to go but now stopped, turned around and gave him a nasty look and then gave another one to Pod and then her gaze went back to Tyrion. "I don't know what you heard, my lord, but there is nothing between me and your brother. We shared some dangers on the road, he saved my life and my honor, more than once, and that is all there is to it."

"Well then, my apologies," Tyrion said. "By the way, that is a nice sword. I seem to recall seeing it in King's Landing. Did Jaime give you it?"

"Yes. He told me to use it to help find and save the Stark girls. It was made from…"

"Ned Stark's sword, Ice. Yes," Tyrion said. "Valyrian steel. I have heard only Valyrian steel and dragonglass seem to have any affect on the White Walkers. Perhaps you and your sword should be at the Wall."

"My place is by Lady Sansa's side. Now if that is all, they are waiting for us."

"Yes, yes, we mustn't keep them waiting."

Pod said good night and scurried away to the soldier's barracks where he slept. Tyrion weaved his way across the cold courtyard behind Brienne's long strides towards the great keep.

"Sorry about what I said," he told her as he tried to keep pace, their breath coming in clouds in the cold air. "You know he loves Cersei, do you not?"

"So I gathered."

"They will both die there, when Daenerys comes."

She stopped and looked at him in the dim light made from the few torches burning in the area. "Ser Jaime doesn't deserve such a fate. He saved that city once."

"Yes, but to do so he killed her father. She won't forget that nor forgive it."

"Do you want to see your brother and sister die?"

"Cersei deserves it," Tyrion said, feeling his blood rise. "For what she did to me and so many others. Jaime…I know not what to think. He may desire some revenge on me, for killing our father. Or maybe he will forgive me. But in the end it will not matter. She will prevail, and he will die."

She said nothing to that but turned and kept on walking and so he followed. They found Sansa and Ser Davos in the solar. They were both sitting at the table as the guards let them in. Davos took one look at Tyrion and grunted.

"You're drunk. Maybe this can wait till morning, my lady."

"The chances of me being sober at any time of the day are very small," Tyrion said. "And in the mornings my head does hurt so very much. Now is best to deal with any matters of importance."

"Very well," Davos said. "There has been a bird from Storm's End. Arrived just before sunset. We tried to find you but no one seemed to know where you were."

"Indisposed. What is the message?"

Sansa told him. "Your queen is in contact with Ser Courtney. Her fleet will make landfall soon. Where, she did not write."

"Excellent. That calls for a drink."

"There is more," Davos said. "She wants to know more of what is happening at the Wall. She…"

"Oh, gods."

"…wants you to go there and assess the situation and report to her as soon as possible."

"Give me the letter." Tyrion took it and read. "Why don't we just write to Jon Snow and ask him what is happening?"

"Nothing is happening or we would have heard by now," Sansa said. "But it doesn't mean it won't."

Brienne looked at Tyrion. "You said she won't come here until she takes King's Landing."

"Yes," Tyrion replied. "As yet the danger from the White Walkers has not manifested itself."

"She knows what we wrote, about the White Walkers." Sansa said. "Maybe she doesn't believe it."

"Or she doesn't trust us," Davos added. "We were all once potential enemies of hers."

"Yes," said Sansa. "My father helped crush her family, as did your family, Lord Tyrion."

"All true. But she did send me here to find allies, not make more enemies."

"Are you afraid to go to the Wall?" Davos asked.

"Of course I am afraid!" Tyrion almost shouted. "Look at me. I am not made for war."

"My son would say different, if he could," Davos retorted.

Sansa glared at the Onion Knight. "Ser, you agreed to let that matter go."

"My apologies, my lady."

There was a long silence, and finally Tyrion sighed and spoke again. "I suppose I must go if my Queen so commands me."

He was not looking forward to this. Once, the Wall had been a curiosity, a thing to see before one died. Now he would see it again, and this time he might actually die.

* * *

 **Castle Black – Jon**

He thought it was a dream at first. Or a voice in his head. Another uneventful day had just ended at Castle Black and Jon Snow was sitting in front of his fire with a cup of mulled wine in hand, alone, as he usually was. Another day of more waiting, and staring off into the snow and cold. He was used to it, as all men of the Watch were. The free folk had known such all their lives and complained not either. The Northmen were also used to cold and snow, and standing guard on frigid nights, and so they bore up well. The Vale men, not so much. More complaints Jon was hearing from their camp, about the cold, about the waiting, about the lack of action. Some damn fool even suggested unblocking the tunnel and heading north to find the enemy and bring the fight to him. Jon swiftly put an end to that talk.

Now he was resting, and feeling sleeping, and was about to go to bed when he heard the voice.

"Jon…Jon!"

He turned his head and there was Sam…but that was impossible.

He leaped to his feet, his cup falling to the floor, spilling wine everywhere. "Sam? Is it you?"

"Yes, Jon, it's me." Sam grinned in his bashful way. He was the same old Sam, except he was dressed in lighter clothes than Jon usually saw him wearing. Still black, but not exactly made for the winter.

"But…when did you get to Castle Black?" Jon asked.

"I'm not in Castle Black…I'm in the Citadel, in Oldtown," Sam told him. "I know it sounds crazy, but listen. There have a special candle here, from Old Valyria, made of dragonglass, and it helps you speak to someone from far away."

Jon stared at him, and shook his head. "But, I can see you, you are here."

"I can see you, too. I don't really understand how it all works, but it does, so let's be grateful."

"Aye. Sam, did you get my letter?"

"Yes…Your Grace."

"Don't call me that."

Sam grinned. "If you wish." Then his grin fell. "I am sorry to hear about your mother."

"Thanks. So…now you know who my real father is."

"Yes…and I must say I am surprised…and not so surprised. I always knew there was something special about you."

"I'm still Jon Snow, Sam."

"I guess so. How are you handling it?"

"Well as can be. But there's no one to talk to Sam, no one to tell me more. Bran knows, and Meera, but they know only as much as me. Meera said maybe this was what Bran was supposed to do, to show me who my true parents are…but why, they don't know."

"Maybe I do," Sam replied. "Jon, if you are truly Rhaegar Targaryen's son this changes everything."

"How?"

"Have you heard of the legend of the prince that was promised?"

"No."

"Well, to be short, the legend says a prince will be reborn who is the heir to Azor Ahai. He was…"

"The one who helped Brandon the Builder. Old Nan told us all the stories. He and Brandon defeated the Walkers long ago."

"Yes! The legend says that Azor Ahai's heir would be born of salt and smoke, and come from the blood of the dragon lords."

Jon got a sudden shock. "Sam…you don't think I am this prince?"

"Yes! You are the blood of the dragons, you were born in war time, with smoke and fire. And the birth scene you described, your mother and Lord Stark were both crying tears of salt. It all makes sense!"

"Sam, it makes sense cause you want it to make sense."

"Then what about Longclaw?"

"What about it?"

"It can kill White Walkers, just like Azor Ahai's sword Lightbringer."

"It can kill them because it is Valyrian steel, you said. And you killed a Walker also, Sam. Maybe you are this prince."

Sam looked shocked. "Me? No, I'm not a Targaryen."

"Neither am I. I mean, I am…but…never mind."

"Jon…you are what you are. You alone have fought them from the beginning, you have been there at Castle Black, at Hardhome, you are the Watcher on the Wall…"

"No, I'm not. I left the Watch."

"I know they made you king, but what about your vows?"

"Sam, our vows say we are men of the Watch until we die…I died."

"I wish I had been there. Maybe I could have stopped them."

"Sam…you would have been killed as well. They surprised me, tricked me, stabbed me in the back. Ollie stabbed me in the heart. I forgave him for Ygritte, I…"

"What? You forgave him? Did he kill Ygritte?"

"Aye." His heart felt heavy as he spoke on her and what had happened.

"Gods, Jon."

"Then when I came back I hanged them all, Sam," he said quickly, to push away the memory of her. "I left the Watch. And no one will make me join it again."

"I understand. But…Jon, you are at the Wall now, aren't you? You are standing a post now, aren't you?"

"Aye, I suppose I am."

"Then this means you are supposed to be there, to face the White Walkers when they come."

"It still doesn't mean I am this prince. I mean, he had magic powers, didn't he? He had that sword, Lightbringer and all."

"Jon, I talked to this fellow here, an archmaester, and well, he seemed to hint that maybe Longclaw is Lightbringer."

"What?"

"I know it sounds crazy, but…"

"Sam, it is crazy. Longclaw came from the Mormont family. They've had it for centuries."

"It still could be Lightbringer. I am trying to find out all I can about the prince and his sword but there is not much here about those times."

Jon shook his head. "Just…leave it be. Find out what you can about defeating the Walkers."

"I am, that's why I am trying to find out how they did it last time."

"Keep reading then."

There was an awkward pause. "How are Gilly and baby Sam?" Jon finally asked.

"Good. My mother and sister are here now…and there's been some bad news I am afraid. My father and brother fought with the Tyrell's against the Lannisters, and they were defeated."

"What? Where?"

"At the Blackwater. Over two weeks ago now."

The Wall was always the last to know. "Your father and brother…are they…"

"My father was captured. My brother Dickon…he was killed." Sam's voice dropped to a whisper as he said this.

"Gods, Sam. I am sorry."

"So am I," Sam said with a heavy voice. "My mother is taking it hard. She wants me to come home, take over…but I can't. The vows."

"Maybe we can make a special case this time."

Sam shook his head. "No. The Watch never allows men to leave, even in such cases. You know that."

"Aye."

"Jon…where are the White Walkers now?"

"No one knows."

"I am trying to get the people here to move North to help you but no one believes me. If only we had some real proof of them."

"We are trying to convince people of the same." Then he spoke for a while on Tyrion Lannister and Daenerys Targaryen and Sam told him what he knew and about this crazy archmaester who went off to find Daenerys.

"I have to go, Jon," Sam said after a while. "I will try to talk to you again in the evenings, if I have a chance."

Jon sensed he was worried. "Sam…what's wrong?"

"Nothing. All is well."

"Sam…tell me."

He shrugged. "It's nothing, not really. My imagination running wild."

"Sam…tell me."

"I think I am being followed."

"By who?"

"The archmaesters."

"Why would they follow you?"

"Because they don't like what I am looking into."

"I don't understand. You are doing it to help save Westeros."

"I know. But they think all this stuff about dragons and White Walkers and wights is not fit for study."

Jon snorted. "I guess they will have to wait till they are at their doorstep before they will believe it."

"Then it will be too late…for everyone."

"Sam, if it's too dangerous, leave. Go to your mother's home. You are still a man of the Watch if you do that. You broke no vows. I will get Edd to say he ordered you to leave there."

"Maybe I will go. Thanks."

They said their goodbyes and then Sam was gone. Jon stared at the space where he had been and wondered if it had been a dream after all. Then he looked at the floor and the cup and wine were still there.

The next day a raven arrived from the Vale with news of the great battle on the Blackwater and how the Tyrells were in retreat but not totally defeated. There were also hints that Daenerys Targaryen was in or near Westeros.

That night Jon had a long talk with Bran and Meera about Sam and what he had said, but he told no one else about his nighttime visitor.

"Maybe he's right," Meera said. "Maybe you are this prince. Maybe that was what Bran was supposed to do, to show you who your real parents were so you would believe in the legend."

Bran was unconvinced. "I still think I need to go to a weirwood. If I don't do this and find out what I am supposed to do I'm afraid we may all be in great trouble."

Jon had been thinking on this. Bran needed to do this, he kept insisting, so Jon had sent out riders along the Wall's south side, looking for a weirwood. "Bran, I have people looking. Be patient."

"What about the one north of the Wall?" he asked.

"I will not unblock the tunnel."

"We can use a basket, some ropes, to lower me and you over the side."

Meera gasped. "What if the rope broke or the wights came while you were there? No! You will not do that!"

"Meera, I must find out. If it is the only way, I must go." She glared at him and then stormed out without another word. "Jon, you must help me." he said. "So I can help you."

"She's right, Bran. What if what she said happens?"

Bran groaned in frustration. "I wish…I wish…for a lot of things."

"Aye, so do I."

He left Bran's room and found Meera outside, sitting on the step that led to this tower. She was crying, softly. When Jon came out she stood up, and she wiped her eyes before speaking.

"You promise me something, Jon Snow. You will not let him do something so foolish."

"I won't. I promise."

"He doesn't care about himself," she said, her voice cracking. "He doesn't care about his life. I…I sometimes think he wants to die."

Jon felt her pain at these words. Like Jon, she cared about Bran…maybe more than cared. "We will keep an eye on him, make sure that does not happen."

"He feels the burden," she continued. "He thinks it all falls on him…he blames himself…for Jojen, and Hodor, and Summer, and the children who died in that cave to save us. If he hadn't gone seeking while the Three Eyed Raven wasn't with him, if the Night King hadn't touched his arm, he thinks none of it would have happened."

Jon stared at her. "What did you just say?"

"He blames himself, he…"

"No, about the Night King touching Bran. When? How?"

She looked at him, puzzled. "We explained all this, when you first came. Bran went in the dream state, like when he showed you your birth. He came across an army of wights and the Night King. He thought they could not see him but they could and then the Night King touched him. The children and the Raven said Bran was marked, and now the special protective spells on the cave would no longer keep them out."

Jon remembered now, but when they first told the tale it was just one more detail of so many. "Special spells…gods. The Wall, it too is supposed to have special spells to keep them out."

"Yes…your Uncle Benjen said that...but…no!" Her eyes went wide. "You don't think because Bran is here that the Wall's protection will fail, do you?"

"I don't know," he said.

"We will leave, now," Meera replied, moving towards the door to the tower. Jon took her by the arm and stopped her.

"It's too late," he told her. "Bran already crossed under the Wall. If the mark of the Night King is still on him, it's too late."

They both turned and looked up in the darkness at the bulk of ice and stone above their heads. If it fell, if it collapsed, Jon knew it would crush every building, man, and horse underneath it all.

"The Wall has never fallen," she said, trying to sound hopeful.

"Aye. But there is no reason why it couldn't."

"Then why haven't they come? What are they waiting for?" she asked and Jon had no answers.

"They will come," was all he said, and he knew in his heart she was right, that the Wall would fall, and then maybe all of Westeros would as well. He was the Watcher on the Wall, Sam had said…and maybe more. But he was just one man, and what could one man do against all the horror that was out there coming this way?


	7. Chapter 7

**Game of Thrones Season 7 Chapter 7**

 **King's Landing – Jaime**

"What word from Highgarden?" Lord Tarly asked as Jaime entered his lord's prison. It was not a cell, but a small room in a high tower, with a soft bed, a table and chair, a candle and a small barred window for light, and a porcelain chamber pot. On the table were the remains of his supper on a tray, with a clay jug of wine nearby. It was night and Tarly was sitting in the chair, sipping a cup of wine. His left arm was still heavily bandaged though no longer in a sling. Tarly had not said much in the few times Jaime had visited him. Even in captivity he was still a stern warrior, stoic to the end, hiding his grief for a lost son and a lost battle, giving his gaolers withering glares, and refusing to engage in any idle small talk with his captors unless necessary.

"Silence is all we have received from Highgarden," Jaime said. "It seems Lady Olenna believes things have gone too far for any negotiations."

Tarly grunted. "As I warned you. Is there at least word from my family?"

"Yes. Your castellan has written that your wife and daughter are in Oldtown and he has passed on word of events here and awaits their answer to the ransom demand."

"Oldtown," Tarly said with evident disgust. "To see my other son, no doubt."

"Sam, was it not? The boy who joined the Night's Watch…or was forced to join from what I heard."

"If he had been your son you would have done the same."

"I have no sons."

"So you say, but the whole realm knows the truth. Why continue to lie when all are dead?"

Jaime ignored the accusation, despite it being true. "It is time to go, my lord."

"Where? The black cells? Or is it the hangman's rope for me?"

"Where will soon be clear. Now do I have to have my guards tie your hands and put a sack over your head and throw you in the back of a wagon, or will you behave and not try to escape if I put you on a horse?"

"I won't try to escape. On my honor. At least I still have some."

Another thinly veiled insult which Jaime chose to ignore. Down the tower steps they went, with four guards as well, and at the bottom the horses were waiting. Jaime still had Tarly's famed sword, strapped to his saddle. They climbed on and rode from the Red Keep with an escort of twenty men, all Lannister men. It was time to leave this cesspool, and Jaime did not want to leave his prized prisoner behind.

It was late, and dark, with no moon, and clouds in the sky and even a hint of rain or snow in the air. The city never slept, not really, but most were abed, and the rest were either drinking in the pubs or wine sinks, or were manning the walls looking out, not in. Two days he had to plan their escape, and most of the details were only worked out in the few last hours before the sun had set.

All would go disguised as soldiers, Cersei included. She protested at first, but he knew if anyone saw her leaving the city there would be a riot or worse. Now she was already gone, out the King's Gate on horseback dressed in ill-fitting Lannister armor, with Qyburn and six of her Queensguards men dressed in similar armor, and another hundred men as escorts. The seventh Queensguards man was Ser Gregor, too big for Lannister armor, so he wore his old dull black plate, the same armor he wore when he fought Oberyn Martell. The rents in it had still not been repaired, as no one had ever expected him to wear it again. Clegane could not be with Cersei, Jaime insisted, for his bulk would be noticed by anyone and might give the game away. Now he rode with Jaime's group and Tarly noticed him in the darkness.

"Your demon going to cut my head off on the old tourney grounds, is he?" he asked.

"You are not going to die, my lord," Jaime told him. "At least not tonight."

Down the street from Aegon's Hill and the Red Keep they rode, past the Mud Gate and on to the King's Gate, the one closest to the Blackwater and the road west. Along the valley of the Blackwater they would ride, on the Goldroad towards the west and then across the hills towards Casterly Rock and home.

They got through the King's Gate with no problem, the gold cloaks opening it at Jaime's command. He felt a small twinge of guilt, leaving these men behind, but he also knew once they realized the Queen had left the city would surrender to the first army that came near. Jaime felt a small solace that once again he was saving their worthless lives. He knew Cersei was right, the people for the most part hated them and would have torn them to pieces at the first opportunity, but not all were so blood thirsty.

They found Cersei's group on a high hill about a mile to the west of the tourney grounds, where once Ned Stark's tourney was held when he had been named Hand of the King and where the army often drilled as well. It all went back to that time, Jaime remembered as they rode across the flat plain, all the troubles, starting with Jon Arryn's death and that damn trip to Winterfell. If only he had been able to keep his hands off Cersei…if only so many things.

Now he was in her bed again, and his will had broken, going back on the promise he had made to himself. He could never resist her, in all the years they had been together. Often she had been cold to him, and for long stretches they had not been together, but always when she was ready for him again he willing came to her. When first she learned she was to marry Robert she had told him they were through, but he had not believed it. And when Robert came drunk to their wedding bed, weeping for another woman, Cersei had come back to him the very next day, crying in his arms, begging for forgiveness. He had forgiven her then, as he had forgiven her now.

At the bottom of the hill Jaime told Ser Gregor and the rest to keep moving west with Lord Tarly. In the darkness ahead was the rest of the army with the rest of the Tyrell prisoners, plus many supply wagons, all ready to move. After the battle they had pulled most of the men back to the north of the river with just a small force holding earthen entrenchments on the south bank. The commanders knew not where they would move, but Jaime had hinted that it would be across the river and to attack the Dornishmen. Just this morning he had ordered the Freys across, to scout the route and to provide a blocking force in case the Dornish attacked while the army assembled across the river.

Or so they believed. They did not know he was sending them to be a distraction and to be possibly destroyed if the Dornish figured out that an escape was afoot. Only Ser Addam knew the truth. When Jaime had told him that afternoon he seemed surprised. "We're retreating?"

"No, we are saving this army from destruction," Jaime said. He then told him about the reports from Lys about the dragons' performance in battle.

"Good gods," Ser Addam said. Then he had frowned. "My lord, the men may lose faith if we retreat. They have tasted victory and want more."

"They will taste dragon fire if we stay here. Once we move west we will spread the word on why we are retreating. That and the fact that they will see their homes and loved ones soon again will strengthen their morale."

"Yes, but for how long? The enemy will follow us."

"They will, but let us hope Ned Stark was right. Winter is coming, sooner I hope than later. While we are warm and well fed in the Rock, they will freeze and starve outside of it."

As part of his plan Jaime had ordered the wooden bridges across the Blackwater covered in oil and men standing by with fire arrows. A precaution, he told his commanders, in case the Tyrells or Dornish tried to surprise them. As soon as they started west he would order the bridges destroyed.

In a few moments his horse made it to the top of the hill, despite the darkness and the steep slope. Cersei and Qyburn were looking east towards the city, their guards and other escorts around them. When he had left them they had helmets on and visors closed, but now they sat on their horses, both with their helmets off.

"Cersei, we must move," he said.

"Wait, we must say goodbye to the city first," she replied, and he noticed a yearning in her voice, a yearning that was always there when she had a desire for him. Even in the darkness he could see her eyes were aglow…and then it happened.

At first he thought it was thunder, and looked up to the sky for rain to come. But then came another thunderous clap, and more, and soon it was a rolling wave of noise,…and then came a wash of air, moving fast, hitting them and buffeting them on their horses… and with the air came the screams.

The city was on fire, large plumes of green and red fire and smoke reaching up into the dark sky. More explosions followed, more screams came on the air, and in the distance Jaime could see buildings tumbling, collapsing, streets on fire, and now came the sound of bells, too late to warn the people that they were about to die.

"Isn't it glorious?" Cersei shouted into a new wave of wind that hit them…and with it came the smell, the stench, and Jaime knew that smell, the smell of wildfire.

He rounded on Cersei and Qyburn, whose eyes were large and filled with joy as much as his sister's.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" he screamed at them.

"I have taken my revenge on this stinking morass!" Cersei shouted back, her voice full of lust and joy. "I have shown these fools they cannot cross a Lannister. They humiliated me, Jaime, tore me down, stripped me naked, paraded me through the streets, flung dung at me, spit on me, cursed my name. Now they will have good reason to curse it, if any survive. Daenerys Targaryen can have the city, a city of ashes and bones, as her father once wanted to give Robert!"

He was too stunned to reply, his anger too great, his whole body and soul filled with loathing for what she had done. And there was her pet, his eyes on fire as much as hers, and Jaime knew he had done it, had planned it, and found a way to set it all off, just like he had done at the Sept of Baelor. Jaime had killed Mad Aerys' pyromancer Rossart once for even thinking of doing this. He knew what he had to do now.

Jaime pulled out his sword and swung it at Qyburn…but two men moved to block him, and stopped his stroke with their steel, two of Cersei's larger escorts, no doubt members of her Queensguard.

"Put up your steel, my lord!" one shouted at him as more men moved between him and Qyburn and Cersei.

Qyburn recoiled in horror from him, moving his horse back. Cersei looked at Jaime in shock. "Jaime, what are you doing?"

"Killing this monster you have created!"

"I gave the command! You may as well kill me!"

Now they had surrounded him, and his clumsy attempts to strike at them failed, hitting shields and other swords, and then his left arm, his poor substitute for a sword arm, was grabbed and he was dragged from his horse and pinned to the ground.

"Take his weapons," Cersei commanded and it was done. "Now, let him up."

They picked him up, and she was on the ground now, facing him, as they held his arms.

"Jaime…how could you not think I would have my revenge?" As she spoke, the destruction went on, the screaming went on, the horror went on, her face bathed in the glow of the fires. She waved her arm at the burning city. "This, I do this for us! In the future, when they speak on us, people will remember this night, and all who died, and yes, they will curse our names, but in the end, they will still be dead, and I will have my vengeance."

"Cersei…have you gone mad?" he gasped.

She snorted. "I knew you would never understand. That's why I didn't tell you. I knew you still had a soft spot for these fools. You saved the city once, and they still cursed your name. Called you Kingslayer, when you should have been hailed as a hero. That should have been a lesson to you and everyone else. There are no more heroes, Jaime, no more shining white knights on horses charging in to save the day."

He glared at her and had no answer to her mad ravings.

"Your Grace," Qyburn said. "It is time."

"Yes. Look, Jaime. Look at Aegon's Hill. Look where you killed Aerys and were branded forever. Soon that ugly iron chair will be nothing but a slag heap."

And as she spoke Jaime turned his head and in a few moments came the largest explosion yet. A massive cloud of dust and green and red flame erupted from the base of the Red Keep. High it climbed, the dust and flame, and Jaime could see towers collapsing, and brick crumbling, and then it all disappeared from view in the rising smoke.

"It is done," Cersei said with a long sigh as more wind buffeted them, her voice sounding like it did when they had finished satisfying each other in bed. Now she turned back to him and her demeanor changed to coldness. "Jaime, I cannot have you killing Qyburn. I need him. Do I have your word you will do him no harm?"

"No, you do not!" he said, seething. It was a mistake, he should have said yes, and killed the grey rat later. But his emotions were too strong at the moment.

She sighed. "You have forced my hand." She looked at her guards. "Take his armor off of him. Bind his hands."

But now Qyburn spoke, coming to Jaime's defense. "Your Grace, he is the army commander. What will the men think?"

"What do you suggest? He wants to kill you."

"Now he does," Qyburn said. "But I am sure we will come to an understanding once tempers have cooled."

"Well?" Cersei said, looking at Jaime.

"Perhaps…Your Grace," Jaime said, struggling to control his temper, knowing he had to say what they wanted him to say. "I am sure I will be quite busy the next few days. Keep your grey rat away from me until I cool off, Your Grace, if you want him safe."

"Very well," she said. "Qyburn, you had best ride on."

He was soon gone. The men released Jaime, but did not yet give him back his weapons. Cersei stood on the hill, looking towards the burning, screaming city, her body framed by the rising flames. Jaime stepped behind her and whispered.

"You too had best keep away from me, Your Grace," he said. "We are through…this time forever."

"You don't mean that," she answered, a bare whisper, her voice catching.

"You always called Tyrion a monster, Cersei. I let it go, knowing why you hated him so. But now I know who the real monster is in our family."

He turned away from her and grabbed his sword and dagger off the man holding them, and mounted his horse and rode away, shattered in spirit. The screams of the people and the light from the flames of the burning city followed him as he rode west, and he wanted to do nothing more than leave, go anywhere but here, where he would have to look at her each day…and wonder how he could ever have been fooled for so long by a woman he had once loved.

* * *

 **The Kingsroad** **– Arya**

Long days and nights it took them to ride from the Trident to Moat Cailin, nights of cold and snow and hunger. They traveled the first part in Frey territory, and despite the large force sent south to the capital many Freys still patrolled the land, seeking those who had killed their lord. In towns and villages notices were up, offering a reward for the three of them, as Marsha Heddle had told them. No inns or featherbeds were for them anymore. Cold ground or a bed of spruce or pine branches in a lean-to was all that they could expect. Once they slept in a barn, a cold snowy night that drove them indoors. With the dawn and the crowing of the rooster they had fled, but not before raiding the chicken coop and carrying off a dozen eggs, which they later fried up on a flat iron pan they had gotten from another farm. That was a good breakfast, one of the few good ones they had. Fortunately, Bronn was skilled at living out of doors, and without him Arya was sure they would have died or been caught by now. He knew how to hide, how to build a fire in a place so no one would see it, how to find rabbits, and how to sneak into a farm or home and steal what they needed.

"A sellsword's life is sometimes a hard life," he told her one morning as they built a lean-to near a half frozen stream while Gendry was out gathering fallen wood for their fire. Bronn had an axe they had stolen and was chopping spruce tree branches while Arya gathered them up to make a roof for their shelter. "But it does prepare you for when times are tough. Bet when you were growing up in a castle you never expected to be sleeping on the ground, eh?"

"No," she told him. "And I never expected my mother and father and brothers would be murdered, either."

"Aye," he said. "Sorry about that. Least you got some measure of revenge."

"Yes," she said. "But it still won't bring them back."

"Nothing ever will. Revenge tastes sweet, but it don't last. Best to look on the future. Now don't forget to invite me to the wedding, you hear, after all I done for you two."

Arya felt her face get hot. "What? What wedding?"

"You and the lad. Don't deny it, cause I see the way you two make eyes at each other, and snuggle together when I am on guard duty."

"We do not!"

"No? What about when he was hurt and you was near tears the whole time? And what was all that business in King's Landing, you hiding out in his place, him denying you was there and all, ready to go to a black cell or worse to protect you?"

"He's my friend, that's why!"

"Oh, well, pardon me, my lady, for seeing what ain't there."

Gendry had heard the last part as he came back to their little camp with an armload of branches for the fire. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Arya said right away. Bronn chuckled and she shot him a withering look and he raised his hands as if to say I surrender.

The next day they left Frey territory and reached the base of the lands known as the Neck. Arya was excited because she knew this was the beginning of the North. She had come this way once before, going to King's Landing with her father and sister, but that had been a long time ago.

She was also a bit worried. "It's all swamp," she said. "Except the raised Kingsroad. Supposed to be lion lizards and snakes in there."

"Might be they're sleeping now the cold has come," Bronn said.

"Maybe," Arya replied, not really sure. "I do know there are no people except the crannogmen."

"Who are they?" Gendry asked.

"Just people," Arya replied. "Shorter than most, and they have brown skin. They like to use strange weapons, nets and forked spears. I remember once some came to Winterfell to pay respects to my father. Some people called them frog eaters, because they like to eat frogs I guess."

"Heard they like to kill travelers," Bronn said.

"That's all lies," Arya told him. "Howland Reed is their leader. He is…was…a friend of my father's. They never harm anyone. They help travelers…I think."

They sat on their horses staring at the road as it rose above the snow covered land and went off among the reeds and trees that was all they could see for miles.

"Well, we have to go through it so we'd best get started," Bronn said.

It took them six days to get through it and it was harder than any other part of their trip even though they saw no people and no one was looking for them. Food was the problem. They had little left and none was to be found in the swamps. No animals at all did they see except a few birds and they had no bow or arrows to bring them down. The land was frozen, the plants mostly dead, and Bronn was mistrustful of them anyway, not knowing if they were safe to eat or not. No towns or villages were in the Neck, and no people did they see either, going north or south, though the Kingsroad was well rutted, and it looked like a large group had passed by here recently. They also found a wagon, with two wheels and its axle broken, left abandoned by the side of the road. It was a fairly new looking wagon, and hadn't been sitting there long. They broke up its wood for their fire on the first night.

"Might be Vale men," Bronn ventured. "Going North. Can't see anyone else in such numbers on this road."

"Could be Freys, maybe," Gendry suggested, casting his eyes about in worry.

"No," Arya said. "They know better than to go North. Any Northman would kill a Frey soon as he saw him." Someday they would kill them all, Arya knew, and raze those cursed twin towers to the ground.

Now in safer lands they traveled by day, though the days were shorter, so it seemed like they moved less each day. They camped just off the Kingsroad, among the trees and reeds, with a big fire to scare away any animals, though they never saw or heard any. After the food began to grow short, they wanted to attract animals but still none came.

Until the third night…and Arya began to dream again…of Nymeria.

She was on a road, walking, her nose to the ground sniffing, and then she raised her head and looked around…and she was alone. The pack was gone, no where to be seen. Arya put her nose to the ground again and caught the scent…of horseflesh. Her stomach rumbled and her mouth watered at the scent. She followed it and there, up ahead, was a fire, off the side of the road. And men…with horses. Fire she feared, but not men. They could die easily, she had learned, and more often then not they ran. All she had to do was howl.

"Arya!" Gendry was shouting. "Wake up!"

"What? What's happening?" she said in a groggy voice.

"You were howling," Bronn said. "You…oh shit!"

Nymeria burst into their camp and leaped for one of the horses, Arya's horse, the smallest one, and in a flash she had it by the throat and dragged it to the ground. The other two horses buck and tried to run away but were tied tight to a nearby tree. Gendry went to calm them as Bronn pulled out his sword and tried to stab Nymeria but Arya leaped at him, and knocked his arm away.

"NO!" she shouted. "Leave her be!"

"She'll kill us next!" Bronn yelled.

Gendry now had his sword out pointing at Bronn. "Do as she says!"

"Boy, you don't want to go pointing steel at me less you intend to use it."

"Stop it, both of you," Arya said as she came up behind Nymeria. Bronn lowered his sword and so did Gendry but they still glared at each other.

The horse was breathing its last as Nymeria ripped out its throat with a shake of her massive head. Arya felt weak and fell to her knees as a flood of sensations came over her, the blood in her mouth, a warm rush of taste sensations, and the raw meat delicious as she gulped it down.

"Nymeria," she said softly and the direwolf turned and bared her bloody teeth, growling at Arya. "Nymeria…it's me…Arya…you remember me…don't you? Have you been following me?"

She held out her right hand and Nymeria approached, sniffing. "Arya, don't," Gendry said, his voice full of worry.

"Sshhh, I know what I am doing. She won't harm me."

"I bloody hope so," said Bronn, his sword raised again, as saw him on her left out of the corner of her eye.

"Stay back," she said quietly as Nymeria came closer. Her eyes were on Arya, and she sniffed her hand...and then licked it, and made a pitiful whining sound. Arya leaned forward, her arms open, and Nymeria came to her and Arya hugged her and felt her tears fill her eyes.

"I'm so sorry I sent you away," she gasped. "I had to or they would have killed you. I'm so sorry."

Nymeria licked her face, and Arya felt and smelled the blood of the horse on her face but did not care. She laughed now and hugged Nymeria fiercely, never wanting to let go.

"Bloody hell," Bronn said as he put his sword away. He looked at the dead horse. "Well, no sense letting it go to waste. We got fresh meat again."

He moved to the horse but Nymeria growled and snapped at him and he stepped back. "Arya, tell your pet we got to eat, too."

"I think after she has had her full would be best," Gendry said as Nymeria returned to the dead horse and began to rip its guts out, steam rising in the cold air from the internal heat of the dead animal.

"Aye, maybe so. She's the leader of her pack and always eats first I bet."

They sat around the fire as Nymeria ate, and Arya told the story of how her father and brothers had found the direwolves and how she had lost Nymeria.

"You say the stag had killed the mother direwolf?" Bronn asked.

"Yes," Arya answered.

"A bad omen, that was," he replied.

"What?"

"The Baratheon stag killing the Stark direwolf."

"Oh…you mean like Joffrey ordering my father killed?"

"Aye."

Gendry shook his head. "But Joffrey was never a Baratheon."

"No, I guess not, not like you," Bronn said.

Gendry scowled. "That drunk may have sired me but he was never my father, not really."

"I suppose not," Bronn replied. "Ah, looks like she's had her full."

Nymeria had stepped back from the horse and was lying down nearby, looking at them, her snout and mouth bloody. Bronn stood and pulled out his dagger but Nymeria growled. He handed the blade to Arya. "Maybe best you do this."

Arya grinned and carefully approached the dead horse and Nymeria let her cut some meat from the body and soon they had it roasting over the fire. She cut more from the carcass and put it in a couple of canvas sacks and that's what they lived on for the next few days before they reached Moat Cailin.

Nymeria came with them of course, but the last two horses did not like it at all. Arya rode with Gendry now, her arms tight around his waist, and she told Nymeria to walk far ahead of them so she would not scare the horses so much. She looked at Arya with curious eyes and then did as Arya commanded. The horses still had her scent so they were shy and it took all their coaxing just to get them to move up the road.

"Might be your pet wants to eat these two as well," Bronn said. "Then we'll be next."

"She'll hunt on her own," Arya promised.

"Hunt what?" Gendry asked. "There's nothing here."

"Then Nymeria will share our food."

"Little as it is," Bronn said almost under his breath but Arya heard him.

"Nymeria is coming with us and that is all there is to it." No one argued with her after that.

The horse meat lasted, barely, with Nymeria eating much of it, and they gave her the biggest share so she would not eye them and think bad thoughts. Arya knew she wouldn't harm her but she was not so sure about Gendry or Bronn. By the time they reached the snowy frozen swamp where Moat Cailin was located Nymeria was eyeing the last two horses and Arya knew what she wanted to do, sensing as she sensed, smelling horseflesh and feeling the desire to attack, to kill. She never told Gendry and Bronn about her dreams, or the connection she had with Nymeria. She just felt they would not understand her and might even be scared of her.

The Kingsroad passed through Moat Cailin. They could have gone around it, but they needed supplies and news of the North. Bronn's sharp eyes saw the banners over the fort from far off, the Stark direwolf and the falcon of the Vale, and then they approached up the road.

"What do you lot want?" shouted a guard from the high walls as they came to the gate.

"Food and a bed for the night," Arya said.

Now a new face appeared, an older man. "Who is asking?"

"Arya Stark of Winterfell and her companions."

"Arya…Stark?" the man said in surprise. "She is supposed to be dead."

Bronn snorted. "Don't look like she's dead to me. You see this beast with us? Know what it is? A direwolf. Now who else but a Stark would have one of them?"

The man ignored Bronn. "If you are truly Arya Stark, you would know who the lady of the Eyrie is."

"My Aunt Lysa, my mother's sister, a Tully of Riverrun," Arya said. "Though I heard she is dead."

"So she is," the man said. He turned his head and shouted. "Open the gates!"

He met them inside the gates and dipped his head to her. "Ser Morton Waynwood, my lady. Welcome to Moat Cailin."

"Thank you. This is Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, and Gendry, my traveling companions. We ask for shelter and food, good ser. And maybe a bath as well."

"You shall have it all," he said. "I would send a bird to Winterfell to say you are here, but I sent my last one yesterday. Perhaps when one comes back." Then he eyed Nymeria. "Is it truly yours?"

"Yes. Her name is Nymeria," Arya replied. "She will not harm anyone as long as they stay away. I will put her in a kennel or a room with food and that will keep her calm."

"As you wish, my lady."

"What news of the North?" Bronn asked.

"Much. Let us take care of your horses and…direwolf, first, then you shall dine with me." Then he eyed Bronn with suspicion. "Ser Bronn, is it?"

"Aye, what of it?"

"You were the one who killed Ser Vardis and stood for the Imp in his trial by combat."

"That was me. A fair fight it was and I won."

"So you say," Ser Morton said with evident skepticism.

Arya spoke up. "Ser Morton, Ser Bronn is with me, and has been most helpful in ensuring our safety. He has sworn his sword to me and my house and no longer serves the Lannisters."

"For now," Ser Morton said. "A ser he may call himself, my lady, but a sellsword he will always be."

"Can't disagree with that," Bronn said with a grin.

Ser Morton ignored him. "Follow me, if you please."

They moved to the stables and gave their horses to some men. The fort was full of men and supply wagons, Arya saw, all from the Vale, and they soon learned that three thousand men were marching to Winterfell the next day as reinforcements.

"We will join them," Arya said when Ser Morton informed them of this as they dined with him in what passed for a great hall in the fort. She was glad for once to be where people were on her side.

"You are not the only one's heading north," he said and then he explained about the strange visitors they had, the Brotherhood Without Banners, Brienne of Tarth and her squire, the red woman, and of all people, Sandor Clegane the Hound.

"He lives?" Arya asked in surprise, remembering how battered and near death he had seemed the last time she saw him. Even more surprising was that he was traveling with the Brotherhood and Brienne, people who had tried to kill him once.

"As of a few weeks ago, yes," said Ser Morton. "Had a limp I noticed, but otherwise seemed healthy enough. All heading to Winterfell, though the red woman was in chains." Then he explained all that though Ser Morton did not know why Jon had banished her from the North.

"Any word of the Imp?" Bronn asked Ser Morton.

The knight nodded. "We have heard he is in Winterfell. Said to be ambassador for Daenerys Targaryen. Why she took such a man into her service is beyond me."

"You know he never killed Jon Arryn," Bronn said.

"The gods alone know who killed our lord," Ser Morton said. "Maybe not your Imp friend, I must admit. Still, he killed his own father, and the gods will surely curse him for that."

"What news of my family?" Arya asked to end this talk before they argued again.

"Jon Snow has taken most of the army to the Wall, to defend against the ice demons."

They looked at him in confusion. "Ice demons?" Gendry asked and so Ser Morton explained, about the White Walkers and all the danger they posed, shocking news to Arya and her party.

"They can't be real, can they?" she asked. Tales of such she had heard as a child from Old Nan, but they were just stories.

Ser Morton shrugged. "No one knows, my lady. But your brother and other members of the Watch claim to have fought them at Hardhome. That's why he marched his army to the Wall. He thinks they will attack it next. Your sister holds Winterfell in her brother's name, till he can return from the Wall."

Arya was confused. "What do you mean, 'in his name'? I know they call him king now, but Jon cannot inherit Winterfell. It belongs to Sansa."

Ser Morton looked at her in surprise. "My lady, have you not heard? Your brother Brandon…he still lives, and is at Castle Black."

Arya felt a shock spread through her body and she had to grip the table to steady herself. "Bran?" she gasped. "He's alive?"

"Yes. He and Rickon Stark were never killed by Theon Greyjoy is the word. They escaped from Winterfell…though I am sorry to say Rickon was later killed by Ramsey Bolton."

More shocks, first joy and then heartbreak once more, and she felt weak all over. All she had thought was true was now in tatters. She fought back the tears that came to her eyes as Ser Morton explained what he knew, how Bran had gone North of the Wall with some companions for some reason he knew not, and how Rickon was being fostered by the Umbers but they had betrayed him and gave him to the Boltons and he was later killed during the great battle, murdered by Ramsey Bolton. As he spoke her head spun and she had to leave them before she totally broke down. Outside she went, and Gendry followed her. To the stables she found her feet taking her and there he found her and into his strong arms she went and she gasped and cried as he held her tight.

"Why have the gods been so cruel?" she asked as she finally calmed herself.

"I know not," he said. "They have never done me any favors." Then he looked at her. "Well, maybe one."

She knew he was trying to make her feel better but nothing would ease her pain yet. "I thought they were both dead…now, to hear they were alive all this time…and now Rickon is truly dead." Then she got mad. "The Umbers…I can't believe it. The Greatjon was always my father's friend."

"Ser Morton said it was his son who did it."

"Did he? Yes, he did."

"Said he was dead now too, in the battle."

"Good." she said, getting madder. "Bran is lord of Winterfell now. I will get him to kill every last Umber. After I kill the red woman, Thoros, and Lord Beric."

"Arya…please don't do that."

"What? I thought you would be glad. They sold you to her. She wanted to kill you, she put leeches on you."

"I know, but…seems like there is enough killing going on. And maybe, I mean, with these ice demon things, might be we need men like Thoros and Dondarrion. They do have some kind of power, remember?"

"Maybe," she said, knowing he was right though she still wanted to kill them. "But the red woman dies."

Gendry nodded. "Yes. But only her. Please."

Arya sighed and then nodded. "Okay."

That night she was given a private room with Nymeria on the floor chewing on some raw bones, while Gendry and Bronn slept in a barracks with the soldiers. For the first time in a long time, Arya felt safe. But things were not so safe in the North, she had learned, and the news of her family left her both happy and sad as well. Those that were left were still in danger. The White Walkers had arisen, and Jon had fought them, and was preparing to fight them again.

For a long time she thought once she had reached Winterfell all would be better. But now maybe that was just a dream, and a new nightmare was about to begin.

* * *

 **Winterfell** **–** **Sansa**

It was the lunch hour, and Sansa was sitting with Tyrion, Brienne, and Ser Davos at a table in the very full great hall, along with the captain of her guard, discussing Tyrion's departure for the Wall tomorrow, when suddenly Baelish and two of his men entered the hall, dragging Podrick Payne with them. The young squire had a bruised face, with his right eye puffy, and a trickle of blood came from a cut lip.

"I caught your spy, Imp!" Baelish said to a suddenly silent hall as they dropped Podrick to the floor before Sansa's table. Around her men were starting to rise from their tables, anger on their faces as they looked to Baelish and his men.

Ser Davos rose, angry as well, and so did Brienne. Only Tyrion remained calm.

"So you have," Tyrion said, after sipping his wine. "But did you have to beat him?"

"What is the meaning of all this, Lord Baelish?" Sansa asked, finding her voice at last, as she rose from the table.

"I found this one spying on me."

"Where?" she asked.

"In the village. I was visiting an establishment, of which I have a small percentage of, and he was there with his ear to the door while I was taking to the proprietress when my men caught him."

"Ah, so you do own a whorehouse in Winterfell," Tyrion said.

"A small percentage I own," Baelish said. "I want him punished. And Lord Tyrion as well. He confessed he was doing it for him."

"It seems you have already punished him," said Brienne, her hand on her sword's pommel.

"Aye," said Ser Davos as he came to Pod's side. He glared at the two Vale men. "Step back. Now."

They hesitated and then did so at a nod from Baelish. Ser Davos helped Pod up and put him in a chair. "Doesn't look too bad," he said as bent to look at Pod's face.

"It hurts," Pod said.

"Wine will cure that," Tyrion advised.

"Well?" said Baelish looking at Sansa. "My lady, I demand justice."

"As do I, my lady," said Brienne. "His men beat my squire for no reason."

Sansa was at a loss, her mind awhirl, and all were looking at her. Then Podrick spoke and decided it all for her.

"A message he was giving her, my lady. I heard. To send to King's Landing."

Sansa glared at Baelish. "Who were you sending the message to?"

"For the Lannisters, no doubt," said Brienne, her sword partly out of its scabbard now. "Say the word my lady and I will gut him."

"Not for the Lannisters," Baelish said right away, cool as ever. "For my business contacts. I must keep an eye on my ever growing concerns."

"Now what am I supposed to think, my lord?" Sansa asked. "I strictly forbad anyone from sending messages from Winterfell without my knowledge. You knew this, yet you refused to obey my commands. Maybe it is you who should be punished."

"Is this how it is to be? After all I have done for you and the North?"

"I would not bring up 'all you have done for me' again, my lord," Sansa coolly replied. "For that includes selling me to the Boltons, and allowing a madman to rape me and use my body for his disgusting pleasure."

Now all around them men of the castle were drawing nearer, angry looks coming from them. Ser Davos looked at her. "My lady, we will soon have a riot on our hands."

She nodded and turned to her people. "My good folk, please return to your duties. All will be well." Her eye fell on four men of the guard at a nearby table. "Please remain. I may need your help."

"Aye, my lady," one said as they put hands on sword hilts. The rest of the people began to leave.

"We will soon get to the bottom of this," Sansa said. "Brienne, go to the village and find this woman."

"I know not where she is," Brienne said.

"I do," Tyrion replied. "Come, my lady, we shan't be but a moment."

Davos wiped the blood from Pod's face with a cloth and gave him a cup of wine. "Drink it down," he said and Pod did so. Davos turned to glare at Baelish. "You have gone too far this time."

"I was within my rights," Baelish said. "If I had killed him I would have still been within my rights."

"You and your men had best not harm anyone else," Sansa said. "Or then I will see justice is done for certain."

He stared at her, and she saw uncertainty in his eyes, only the second time ever, the other being in Mole's Town, when he had first offered his men to help her and she had refused. When Brienne had wanted to kill him.

Tyrion and Brienne soon came back, with an older woman, dark of hair, a bit heavy in the body, and she was all flustered, and even more so when she saw Lord Baelish. She dipped her head to Sansa, as Tyrion resumed his seat and Brienne stood behind the woman. "My lady, how can I be of service?" the woman asked.

"I want to know what your relationship with Lord Baelish is."

"He owns a small part of my business. Twenty percent is all, my lady. I swear."

"I care not for your business relationship with him," she said. "I want to know why he was visiting you earlier."

Her eyes darted to Baelish, who nodded. "Tell her the truth," he said.

She gulped and nodded. "Was just a message, for his man in King's Landing," she said. "Business is all, I swear, my lady."

"Did you read this message?"

"No. It was sealed."

"Where is it now?"

"Gone."

"And how was this message to go to King's Landing?" Tyrion asked.

She gulped. "I gave it to one of my girls…who…who…no, please…I can't say."

She trembled and Sansa came to her and put a hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. "Are you afraid of what he will do?"

She nodded quickly.

"Be not afraid. You are under my protection. Lord Baelish will not harm you."

The woman nodded again and spoke. "One of my girls, she's from Castle Cerwyn. She rides there once a week with any messages from Lord Baelish. She knows a riverboat master there, he's sweet on her, and he sends out the messages by boat down river to White Harbor and then by ship to the capital. She already left."

Sansa felt her blood rising. "How many messages has he sent?"

"Just three so far as I know," she said.

Tyrion laughed. "I think perhaps you should have just let Pod go, Littlefinger. You have stirred up a hornet's nest here, haven't you?"

"I have done nothing wrong," Baelish declared. "I am not in contact with our enemies. It is all for business."

"Why send messages by sea?" Ser Davos asked. "Because you know all raven messages are read by us?"

"You may not know this, ser," Baelish began. "But no one is allowed to have ravens in the capital except the royal family."

"True," said Tyrion.

"This was the only way I could keep in touch with my affairs in the south," Baelish continued. "As a great lord it is my right to send messages without interference."

It was a reasonable explanation but he still violated her orders. In that moment Sansa decided. She could never trust him, now even more so. She turned to the captain of the guard. "Captain, arrest Lord Baelish and put him in a cell."

"At once, my lady," the captain said as he approached Baelish. Brienne pulled out her sword as did the four men of the guard. The two men of the Vale stood there and did nothing. "Come along, my lord," the captain said.

Baelish smiled at Sansa. "This will soon be over. When Lord Robin Arryn hears of my mistreatment, he will threaten to withdraw all his men back to the Vale."

Davos stepped up to him, glaring at him. "He will never hear of it. For no word shall leave this castle again without our knowing it…of course, when we hang you for being a traitor, then we will have to tell Lord Arryn. But then it will be too late for you. Take him away."

When he was gone, the woman stood there trembling. "My lady, I did not know you commanded no messages be sent. I swear by all the gods, old and new."

"Not to worry," Sansa said. "You are not the first person to unwittingly fall for one of Lord Baelish's plots. You may go."

When she was gone, and the two Vale men as well, Sansa sat and breathed deeply. "Did I do the right thing?"

"Yes, my lady," said Brienne, "We cannot trust him. Maybe we can catch this girl who is riding to Castle Cerwyn if she just left."

Tyrion shook his head. "Let her go. If we catch her and if the message is what Baelish said it is, well then, we have no reason to keep him locked up, now do we?"

"Reason enough," said Davos. "He disobeyed a direct order."

"His crimes are greater than that," Sansa said.

Brienne looked at her. "Is there more to this that I am unaware of?"

"There is," Sansa told her. "All will be clear soon, so not to worry." She looked at Pod's bruises. "It is time you saw the maester, Podrick. Lady Brienne, please take him."

"Yes, of course," Brienne said and they left.

Davos looked worried. "Might be we call more guards," he said. "The Vale men will not take kindly to this."

"They would be mad to do anything rash," Tyrion said. "Lord Royce would hang them all. You did say he has no love for Littlefinger, did you not?" That was for Sansa.

"Yes. None at all."

"Good," Tyrion said. "So we can depend on him at least if this turns sour."

Sansa knew she wanted to depend on one more person. "You will stay here, my lord," she said. "I need you here, not at the Wall."

Tyrion smiled. "Gladly I will stay. But my Queen commands…"

"She is not here," Sansa said quickly. "Besides, like you said, Jon can write and tell us what is happening at the Wall." She looked at Ser Davos. "I think you may be right. How many Vale men are here?"

"A hundred maybe, not more than we have. But Baelish said three thousand more had arrived at Moat Cailin and may be on their way here already."

"We will send them on to the Wall as soon as possible," she told them. "Would you please check on our guards and make sure no unrest is beginning?"

"At once, my lady," Davos said. "Perhaps it was best you two were inside."

To her solar they went, Sansa wanting more words with Tyrion. "Do you partake of whores often?" she asked when they were seated at her table.

His eyes widened a bit and then he sighed. "Yes, I must confess. A weakness most men have, the desire for the flesh."

"Some have tastes beyond desire," she said quietly.

"I…I had not known of your mistreatment."

"It matters not now. It is over and he is dead," she said, though she knew it never would be truly over.

"Yes…fed to his own dogs alive, they tell me. By you."

"If you had known Ramsey you would not think it too cruel a death."

"I am sure he deserved every bite. Remind me not to anger you in the future."

She had to laugh at that. "You know I never wanted you for a husband, but you do have many good qualities. When our annulment is finalized, you should find a nice woman and marry."

"Alas, I have been cursed in marriage and in love, more than once. I was married once before you. It did not work out."

Sansa was taken aback. "I did not know. Who was she?"

"A young girl, name of Tysha," he said, his eyes sad now. "Both of us were young, not much older than you. We were wed in secret, but my father put an end to it when he said she was a whore and only married me for my gold."

"Gods…was she really a…?"

"Yes, as it turns out she was a whore and it had all been a game set up by my brother to see me get my first woman. But that is a story for another day."

"I'm sorry."

"Not as much as I am." He stood. "I should go and see Podrick. After all he got hurt doing something for me."

"Why did you ask him to spy?"

"I knew Baelish was up to something but had no proof. If Podrick found it, we could make plans based on that. Or, as happened, if he got caught, I was hoping Baelish would overreact, which he did. So it all worked out."

"They could have killed Podrick."

"Yes, they could have. But I did not think Baelish would be so rash. He knows who Podrick is and what role he and Lady Brienne played in your rescue from the Boltons. I am sure he knew you would react badly to Podrick's death. Lady Brienne certainly would have."

"You took an awful chance."

"True, but in life sometimes one must take such chances, even with others' lives. And not to worry about Pod, he knew what he was getting into, and gladly did it."

"I am sure he would slay a dragon for you if you asked."

"Well, let us hope it never comes to that. Speaking of slaying, what will you do with Baelish?"

She sighed. "I know not. That is why I need you here."

"He was not wrong about one thing. He is a great lord now, after he married your aunt. He can demand a trial and if you refuse this will not go good for your reputation and family name."

"Any trial will end badly, for me and him," she said. "I will not hold back, I will tell them everything."

"Good." Then his eyes lit up. "Tell the truth this time, the whole truth…yes…that is what you must do. You must confess…to Lord Royce."

"About everything that happened in the Vale?" Sansa asked in surprise.

"Quite so. Gods, where is the ink and parchment? Ah, there it is." He brought the writing supplies to the desk. "We still have a raven for Castle Black, yes?"

"One, I believe."

"Good. Now, let us think on how to write this."

"Are you sure this is the best thing to do?"

"Certainly," Tyrion replied. "Confession is good for the soul. Or so I have heard. Lord Royce will scream blue murder when he hears this and then we will not have to worry about the army breaking up. We should have thought of this sooner."

"He may be angry I lied to them about what happened."

"How could he be angry at dear sweet you, who trembled in fear and worried what the monster Baelish would do to you? Yes, that is what we will say. You write, I will tell you what to say. We must put it in such a way that you only lied to him because you feared for your life, feared what Baelish would do to you."

"That at least is half true."

"Good. Now, let us begin."

They wrote the letter, as brief and as small as they could on the thin parchment roll, and the next morning the bird flew for Castle Black.

Their fears of unrest were unfounded. Sansa and Ser Davos met with the captain of the Vale men and he understood when she told them why Baelish was arrested and he promised to keep the peace as long as Baelish got a fair hearing.

Later that morning she went to see Baelish in the cells under the armory. She had the guards leave the corridor as she stood by the bars of his cell and talked to him.

"Have you come to your senses, my lady?" he asked, his eyes on her, eyes that still said he wanted her in all ways.

"If you mean will I release you, the answer is no."

"I see. And what are the charges?"

"Treason and murder."

"Of course," he said, almost indifferent, in a lighthearted way, as if he was not in trouble at all. "When will my trial be held?"

"Soon. I believe in swift justice, just like my father did."

"I will get no justice here I am sure."

"No, my lord, we will be fair. You will have your say…and then I will have mine. I will confess to all, in front of many, as to all that went on in the Vale and before, in King's Landing."

His eyes narrowed. "Careful now. You would not want the realm to think you murdered your aunt, now would you?"

"We both know you did that. And soon Lord Royce will as well. I have sent a bird to Castle Black, confessing all."

He snorted. "Lord Royce will not believe it."

"Why not? He despises you so very much, as do many of the men of the Vale. I am sure he will send on word to sweet Robin, to tell him how his mother died at your hands."

"I saved your life! More than once!" he almost shouted, his veneer of indifference cracking.

"Yes, you did, and I thank you for that. But you also sold me to a madman."

"I told you I did not know he was like that."

"I still don't believe you, no matter how often you say it."

"There is naught I can do about that. But I do recall a letter, pleading for my help. You promised me a reward if I brought my men to help your brother and you." He looked around his cell. "So this is how you reward people in the North?"

"I made a promise, yes...but breaking it does not trouble my sleep. You say you love me but how can I ever love you back after all you have done. I know it was you who started this war that saw my father and mother and brothers die, with so very many more."

He looked at her in what could have passed for genuine surprise if she did not know him so well. "I started a war? And how did I do that, pray tell?"

"I know about the dagger. Lord Varys is with Daenerys Targaryen. He told Tyrion everything. Theon Greyjoy knows as well. My mother told him and Robb what you said to them in King's Landing in front of Lord Varys."

"What am I supposed to have said?"

"You know. That the dagger used to attack my mother and Bran was Tyrion Lannister's dagger."

"All lies."

She was not surprised at his lack of confession. He had no soul, and one needed one to own up to one's crimes. "I think not."

"And you trust these people? Lord Varys the Spider, known for more plots and spinning more webs than anyone else in the realm. Theon Greyjoy, who attacked your home, killed Ser Rodrik and so many others. Burnt two farm boys to make people think he killed your brothers. These men you trust?"

"Why not? They have never lied to me or my parents. You started this war. Why? So my father would die? So my mother would marry you? So you could cause chaos and climb on that cursed iron chair?"

"It's all a lie."

"So you say."

"I demand to be tried in front of my accusers."

"It will take months for them to be here, if ever."

"I can wait."

"You will not be tried for starting the war. You will be tried for murdering my aunt. And for treason, for sending messages to our enemies. All of the witnesses as to those charges are here."

"I did no such thing. As I said, it was for my business."

"So you say. But there is more. I have received a letter from King's Landing, from Queen Cersei, promising all your old positions back and a pardon if you send the men of the Vale to King's Landing to support her. Oh, but you have to do one thing first. You have to kill me and Jon."

"I saw no such letter!"

"I know."

"It's all a plot to discredit me."

"Perhaps. But with you writing secret messages to King's Landing, how can I be sure you are not in league with them?"

She started to turn to walk away but he stopped her. "This will not stand. I still have powerful friends in the realm."

"I wonder how long they will be your friends once they hear all I have to say. I think I shall write more letters. Yes, to Highgarden, and Dorne, and one even for Daenerys Targaryen. Soon, the whole realm will know you as the monster you truly are."

"I demand the right to call witnesses in my defense."

She knew he had that right. "Very well. Who?"

"My business partners in King's Landing. They know the truth of my messages."

"That will take time."

"I can wait. Here if I must but I'd prefer…"

"Here," she said. "You will give the names to Ser Davos and if they can be located, we will send for them…as soon as possible."

He started to protest again but she left with his words fading behind her. Outside Tyrion and Ser Davos and Brienne were waiting. Before she had met Baelish she and Tyrion had told Ser Davos and Brienne all they knew of Baelish and his nefarious activities. "Did you tell him it all?" Tyrion asked.

"Yes."

"I wonder if that is a good idea," Ser Davos said.

"Let him stew in it," Tyrion said with some glee. "Let him sweat. Like I did in King's Landing."

"And the trial?" Brienne asked.

"He has asked for witnesses," Sansa told them. "His business partners in King's Landing."

Tyrion chuckled. "Good. Let him rot in a cell for months. That will shake his confidence and his willingness to wait. I bet in a week he is asking for his trial to begin. And then when we find him guilty and sentence him to death I know what he will do."

"What?" Ser Davos asked.

"He will ask for a trial by combat, of course."

"I will be your champion, my lady," Brienne said at once.

That took Sansa aback. "Ah, as you wish. But I don't think it will come to it."

"Oh, it might," said Tyrion. "The question is who will be champion for Baelish."

* * *

 **Castle Black –** **Jon**

Jon found Lady Lyanna Mormont with her maester and commanders, sitting at the table they regularly took in the Watch dining hall. Routine had settled over the castle, with certain times of day set for meals for certain groups, with patrols sent out and commanders meetings held at certain times. East and west they went on the Wall and to the south of it and found no sign of the White Walkers or their wights. Nor of any weirwood yet, either.

It was about Longclaw Jon wanted to talk to her about, though he knew not if she knew anything about the sword or the uncle who had given it to him.

As he approached her table they all stood and dipped their heads to him. Jon was still uncomfortable with being called king and being treated in such a way, but he knew he had to act like he was a king.

"My lords, my lady, how are things?"

"Well, Your Grace," said Lady Mormont. "Will you join us?"

"Aye…but it is you I wish to speak to, in private, if I may. Your maester as well."

The other commanders and lords immediately excused themselves and dipped their heads to Jon and their lady. After they were gone he sat opposite Lady Mormont and her maester.

"How may we be of service, Your Grace?" the maester asked.

He got right to the point. "I am wondering if you know anything about the sword named Longclaw that Lady Mormont's uncle Lord Commander Jeor Mormont gave me."

Lady Mormont turned to her maester, who spoke. "The sword was in the Mormont family for five centuries or more, Your Grace."

"How did they come to posses it? Who made it?" he asked.

The maester was at a loss. "I know not. No one knows who made it or how it came to be with the family. The history of the family says they have always lived on Bear Island and the sword has been with them for centuries…until Lord Commander Mormont gave it to you."

Jon felt bad at these words and knew what he had to do. He stood and began to unbuckle the sword belt but Lady Mormont stopped him with a raised hand.

"Your Grace, the sword is yours," she said as she lowered her hand. "My uncle gave it to you for a reason. My cousin Jorah should have been the one to carry the sword, but he dishonored our family and fled Westeros. By giving the sword to you perhaps my uncle hoped to give it some honor again. You have proved yourself worthy of such a blade, Your Grace. It is yours for all time."

Jon nodded. "Thank you, my lady. I only hope I can do it justice."

"You already have. And will again I am sure," she said with a smile. Jon felt good, and wondered why the gods had chosen to give one so young such wisdom and a way with words.

Just then Edd came into the dinning hall and walked straight to him. "Visitors, Jon, from Winterfell."

"Aye? Who is it?"

"Best you come see for yourself."

Just inside the gates was a party of about forty people, all with horses, with some supply wagons as well. Already the men of the Watch and the North were unloading the wagons. Tormund and some his people were nearby eyeing them. But Jon's eye was not on them, it was on her…the red woman, in chains, being helped off her horse. He felt his blood begin to rise, and marched straight for her with Edd and Tormund at his sides. But a tall man with an eye patch stepped in his way.

"King Jon Snow, is it not?" the man asked.

"Aye, I am he," Jon said.

"Lord Beric Dondarrion, Your Grace," the man said with a dip of his head.

Jon knew he had to show courtesy. "Welcome to Castle Black, my lord. This is Eddison Tollett, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. And Tormund, one of the leaders of the free folk."

"Free folk?" Dondarrion said.

"Aye, the free folk," said Tormund with his distinctive growl. "Free to stand on our two feet. Not some prissy knee benders like you lot down south."

"No man is ever truly free," Dondarrion countered. "He either bends to a lord, a god, or his wife."

Tormund laughed in his loud boisterous way. "Aye, maybe to the last one all men must bend," he said.

Dondarrion looked back to Jon. "A letter from your sister, explaining it all," he said as he produced the letter from his furs.

Jon took it, but was still mad. "She could have sent a bird."

"Aye, she could have," Dondarrion agreed. "But I think she wanted me here to explain as well."

Jon looked past him at Melisandre. "Edd, put her in a cell."

"All we got is the ice cells," Edd reminded him, speaking of the hollowed out rooms built under the Wall where they stored food and put men who had to be punished. "She just might melt it and the Wall and all."

"Right. A room then with guards on her door. Bring her food and drink if she asks."

"Jon Snow," Melisandre called out. "We must talk." Jon ignored her as Edd called for three men of the Watch to follow him and they led Melisandre away. He opened Sansa's letter and quickly read it while Dondarrion waited and Tormund stood by his side. Jon looked up at Dondarrion when he finished.

"How much of this is true?"

"I know not what Lady Sansa wrote, but if she claims Melisandre will save us from the demons, then this much I know she saw in her flames."

"Aye, she writes this."

"I have heard you know firsthand the power of the lady and the Lord of Light."

"I have."

"So have I…six times now."

Jon stared at him with awe. "Six times?" he almost gasped.

"Aye…each time harder than the last. Tell me, Jon Snow, when you were on the other side, what did you see?"

"Nothing. There was nothing at all."

"Then you truly have died and have come back. All I saw and felt was blackness, an eternity of nothing…and then…"

"You even felt that fading away?" Jon asked.

"Aye…and was glad, for I wanted to be conscious of my existence no more…but each time the Lord of Light brought me back. She has his power in her to do that…and much more."

"I swore to kill this woman if she came back to the North."

"Might be we need her," said another man, who had been listening nearby. He had faded red robes peeking out from under his furs. "Thoros of Myr, another priest of our Lord," he said with a dip of his head. "I am the fool that brought Lord Beric back all those times."

Jon knew who he was, and Dondarrion as well. "You and your flaming sword were first into the breach at Pyke during the siege," Jon said to Thoros.

"Aye. When I was younger and full of drink more than the Lord's words."

"You both served Lord Stark as well," Jon said next.

"We did," said Dondarrion. "A sad day when we learned your father was dead."

"For all Westeros," added Thoros.

My father died on the Trident almost twenty years ago, Jon wanted to say, but held his tongue. "You must be cold and tired. We will provide rooms and food, though the castle is a bit crowded now."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Dondarrion said. "We have brought our own tents and will make camp wherever is suitable. First, there is more news. Your sister Arya we met on the road in the south."

Jon was taken aback. He knew Arya was alive, from the stories Sansa and Brienne told him, but no one knew where she was now. "When?" he asked.

"Some time ago," Thoros said. "A tale better told over a hot meal and mulled wine."

"Aye…just…" But Jon's words faltered as he caught sight of a tall man with a scarred face. "Is that the Hound?"

"It is," Thoros said and Jon walked straight towards him, with Tormund following.

"Sandor Clegane," Jon said as the Hound was taking a saddle bag off his horse.

He turned around. "Aye. Who the fuck is asking?"

"Jon Snow. Though we never met I saw you at Winterfell years ago."

The Hound grunted. "So, Ned Stark's bastard, the great hero of the North. But it's King Jon Snow now, isn't it? I suppose you want me to get on my knees. Forget it. I'm not here to kiss your and any other lord's pretty ass. I'm here to fight the demons."

Tormund laughed again. "Him I like. Come, new friend. Let us get drunk."

"I am done with getting drunk."

"Then you are truly cursed," said Tormund.

"In more ways than one," the Hound replied. He looked back at Jon. "So, what is it you want?"

"Just to say thank you."

"What for?" he asked, suspicion in his tone.

"For saving Sansa in King's Landing. She told me the story of the riot."

The Hound nodded. "Aye, was a bad day…for those men who tried to rape her. Now if that's all, I'm hungry and tired."

Jon nodded and turned away from the rude man. A gentle giant Jon knew he was not from the stories he had heard of him, but still, he had saved Sansa, so Jon felt obliged to thank him.

Later Thoros and Dondarrion told him all they knew of Arya and events in the south. "Clegane knows more than us about your sister," Thoros told him and explained why.

Jon would see Clegane when he had time. But first he had to deal with the red woman. He went to see Melisandre, with Tormund, Edd, and Lord Royce with him. He did not want to be alone with her. Once in this very castle she had tried to seduce him and he did not think his flesh was not strong enough to stand such again. She sat at a small table in her room, her chained wrists sitting on the table. Jon had gotten the key for the cuffs from Dondarrion. He could see the skin under the cuffs was raw from rubbing though she showed no sign of discomfort. In fact, she seemed content, as she always seemed. Nearby was a hearth with a fire in it but Jon felt more heat from her body than the hearth as he sat across from her. Behind him stood the others and she looked up at them as he sat.

"What I need to say I must say to you alone, Jon Snow."

He shook his head. "These men are my commanders and will know what you say soon enough. Best they hear it from you."

"Very well," she said. "You are all in danger."

Tormund snorted. "Tell us something we don't know, witch."

"From one who is here," she continued. "Your brother, Jon Snow. He is the danger."

"You had better explain that."

"I don't know how, but all I know is I saw him in the flames. Brandon Stark, the wolf boy with a thousand eyes. He is here, yes?"

"I am sure Sansa told you that."

"I knew before I got to Winterfell. I knew he will be the one to cause the Wall to collapse."

Now it was Edd's turn to snort. "The Wall has stood for thousands of years."

"It has," she said. "But as buildings will tumble to dust with time and mountains erode to hills, the Wall will surely fall. Soon."

"When?" Lord Royce asked.

"When they come."

"That is no answer, woman," Tormund growled. "Why is the boy the cause of it?"

"Because he is marked," Jon found himself saying.

Melisandre's eyes widened. "You knew?"

"Aye," he said. "Just a few days past I figured it out. Meera, the girl who traveled with Bran, she told me how he had a…a vision…and in the vision the Night King grabbed his arm. Bran was with another, an old man, a…"

"Greenseer," Melisandre said and now it was time for Jon's eyes to grow wide.

"Aye," he said.

"A man with a thousand eyes," she continued. "Who could see past, present, and future, as your brother can now."

"Only if he is at a weirwood. He must touch the tree or its roots. This time Bran went by himself, and the Night King saw him and touched him. Then when the wights and Walkers attacked the cave the old man lived in that's why they could get through, because the spells were broken, the old man told him. Because Bran was marked by the Night King. And now…"

"Now he is here," she continued. "He has passed under the Wall, and he is marked by the Night King. The Wall's spells are broken, no longer providing protection."

"Aye…so we think," Jon said.

"Bloody hell," said Edd. "You could have told us."

"I wasn't sure."

Lord Royce was skeptical. "But it is still seven hundred feet of ice and rock. How can they destroy it?"

"They need only make a crack, in the right place," Melisandre said. "Then it will fall. This I saw in the flames."

"Your death as well, Sansa wrote," Jon told her.

"Yes…I will die," she said. "When they come, I will stand and stopped them…for a time, while you get the army away."

"Maybe we should get away now," Lord Royce said, worry in his tone.

Jon shook his head. "We don't know if this will come to pass or not. This is the best place to face them if it does. If the Wall falls, I believe it will be only a small breech. We will plug the gap, and fight them while we can secure our flanks."

"You will lose," Melisandre said.

"Better to fight and die here," Jon replied. "Than out in the open in the cold, surrounded and hemmed in. At least we have a chance here. And you have been wrong in the past about your visions…my lady."

He stood and she stopped him. "Am I to live?"

Jon took out the key for the cuffs and tossed it on the table. "For now. You will be confined to this room unless I say otherwise. Is that clear?"

"Yes, my prince."

"He is a king," Lord Royce said to her in stern tones.

She smiled. "No…a prince…who was promised."

Jon hesitated and then left the room with the rest. Maybe she had the answers he sought, but he would not ask for them in front of the others.

As they got outside Lord Royce looked to him. "I will not sacrifice my men here if we have no chance."

"She has been wrong before," Jon said.

"What if she's not?" Edd asked.

Tormund grunted. "Just make sure you take as many of them with you to hell as you can before you die."

* * *

 **The Dornish Camp** **– Ellaria Sand**

They dragged the Frey commander before her and put him on his knees. Ellaria Sand rose from her camp chair and stood over him. It was just after dawn, and her forces had just defeated a smaller Frey force in the night by the river's south bank. And across the river in the distance they could see the fires of the city as it consumed itself in an inferno. Already patrols to the Blackwater's edge reported massive numbers of people fleeing, up river and across the river as well, in any boat they could lay their hands on.

Ellaria wanted the city to burn, to cleanse it of all the filth and scum, of Lannisters, the city where her beloved had died, where his sister and her children had died…but she soon learned the Lannisters had fled, Cersei and Jaime with all the rest of the rats.

Almost three weeks they had been camped near here, in the northern Kingswood, waiting for word of Daenerys Targaryen, waiting for the fool Tyrells to rebuild the army they had lost. Weeks with her lords and officers demanding they take action. How, was the question? They had no boats and the bridges were manned by the Lannisters in force. They had defeated the Tyrells, using wildfire they had heard, and she would not send her army against that hell. Not when dragons were coming.

Another reason was she was uncertain of the loyalties of the army. She had murdered their lord and his heir. In Dorne there had been jubilation…and concern. Jubilation that the cautious prince was dead, and action and revenge would be the order of the day. Concern that a bastard daughter of Dorne was now in charge, a woman with no experience of rule, and whose only claim to any title was sharing a bed with Prince Oberyn, though he never married her. All this she heard and all this she knew was true. But she acted, quickly, and soon the concerned voices grew fewer.

Her first step was to make an alliance with the Targaryen girl and the Tyrells. She knew they could not challenge the Lannisters alone. And when Cersei killed the Tyrell lord and his children the opportunity arose for a grand alliance.

March they did, and the people of Dorne cheered them as they did so. The high of leaving soon grew to weariness as it took more than a month to reach the capital region. And then they learned the fool Tyrells had already been beaten and their commander captured. And now…now it was all for naught, as the city burned, and the Lannisters were gone…for now. When patrols first reported the fires, she commanded the army to move north to the river, believing Daenerys had come at last and was attacking the city with her dragons. All they found was a city in chaos, the scent of ash and death on the air, and a small body of Freys that they quickly crushed.

The Frey man was old, stout and bearded, as most of these northerners were. "I am Ellaria Sand, ruler of Dorne. Your name?" she asked, as she looked down on him on his knees, a guard on either side of him. His face had a cut on the left cheek and his surcoat was bloody.

"Lord Stevron Frey, my lady. Lord of the Crossing."

"I thought Walder Frey was Lord of the Crossing."

"He is dead, my lady, foully murdered at his dinner table with two of my younger brothers. Now I am lord of the Twins."

"You are lord of nothing now," Obara snapped from nearby. Her two sisters laughed but went silent as Ellaria gave them a look.

She turned back to Lord Stevron. "Where are the Lannisters?"

"Fled," he said. "West I believe they went, and may the gods curse their souls for what they did this day."

"They abandoned you," said one of her commanders, Lord Anders Yronwood. "Or did they send you across the river to harass us while they got away?"

"Aye, both, my lord," he said. "But we did not know they would flee. We were not privy to any plans to destroy the city. The realm will not curse us for that."

Ellaria laughed. "They already curse your name, Frey. What do they call it? Yes, the Red Wedding. You killed guests under your roof. Your name will be cursed for all time."

"That was Tywin Lannister's doing!"

"Of course," she said. "He made the plans and other men cut the throats. Just like he did when he killed Elia and her children. Where are they going, these Lannisters? Will they turn back and strike us?"

"I know not."

"Then what use are you?" She looked to his guards. "Kill him."

A dagger was at his throat in an instant. "Wait! Casterly Rock…yes, they must be going there."

"Even the stupidest spearman in my ranks could tell me that," Ellaria said. "Cut his throat.'

"A ransom!" Lord Stevron pleaded.

"We want no cursed gold." She nodded to the guards and they killed him on the spot.

"What of the rest of the prisoners?" Lord Yronwood asked as the body was dragged away.

"How many?"

"Maybe five hundred."

"Send them to help with the fires in the city. If any still live when the fires are out, kill them. Our gift to the realm. The less Freys there are the better. Now we march, to the river. Find a way across. We must save what we can and prepare the city for our new Queen…or at least what is left of it."

"What of the Lannisters?" Obara asked.

"They are far away. But there is no place for them to run to except Casterly Rock. When our Queen's dragons arrive, we will set their own home on fire. Then they will reap what they have sown here and in the past. And vengeance shall be ours."


	8. Chapter 8

**Game of Thrones Season 7 Chapter 8**

 **King's Landing – Daenerys**

Before they sailed from Tarth they came to see her on her ship, the two of them, but not together. Ser Jorah came first, just after sunset on the eve before they sailed, a cool evening with a hint of rain in the air. He asked to see her alone and she consented and they retired to her cabin. She offered him wine but he refused.

"So, ser, what is it you wish to speak to me about?" she asked, being formal as they sat at her table, trying to put aside the fact that this man loved her.

"Yesterday was not the first time I heard of the White Walkers, khalessi," he began.

"Childhood tales?" she guessed.

"Aye, and more. I had a visitor when I was in the east…Quaithe."

Dany remembered Jorah telling her about the mysterious woman who wore the lacquered mask. "But she was in Qarth, was she not?"

"She was and still is as far as I know. I did not go to Qarth. She came to me in a vision, made by a magic candle she said came from Valyria." He quickly explained the conversation they had.

"Why did you not tell me this yesterday?" Dany asked.

"I couldn't, in front of the rest. They would not understand…or think me mad. Daario knows, but no others. She said you must go north, as quickly as possible. There is no time to lose."

"I will…but first I must deal with my enemies in King's Landing."

"Let the Tyrells and Dornish deal with them, khalessi. They have more reason to want vengeance on the Lannisters than anyone else."

"And what of my vengeance?" Dany asked, feeling the angry dragon rise within her, trying to stay calm but struggling. "Jaime Lannister killed my father. Tywin Lannister's dogs raped and murder my brother's wife and killed their children."

"Aye, they did, khalessi, and I do not belittle your desire for revenge. But you have put your vengeance aside before. Now Tyrion Lannister serves you, as does Varys. And you know I rode with Ned Stark when your brother was killed on the Trident. You have forgiven me for that, and more."

"I…I needed you…I need you still. Tyrion also. Varys as well, though you all once served my enemies. If I took vengeance on everyone in Westeros who wronged my family there would be few left to be my allies.

"True enough. All I am saying is let this one go…for now."

She shook her head. "No, I cannot do that. To King's Landing we will sail, and when Cersei Lannister is defeated and the Iron Throne is mine then we will decide what to do about the North and these White Walkers. As yet we know little more than the fact that Jon Snow took his army to the Wall. I will not change our plans based on the words of a woman you saw in a vision. Who knows what her true motive is?"

"Khalessi, please…"

"No. That is final, ser. You may return to your ship. We sail at dawn."

He nodded and stood. "Very well…Your Grace." He turned but stopped by the cabin door. "Daario wishes to see you."

She felt herself get excited and she knew why. It had been too long. "Did he?" she asked, unable to hide her excitement, which he saw and heard.

Jorah looked at her steadily. "If you take him to your bed again tongues will wag."

"All know he was my lover in Meereen. Even you."

"All of us…but not those here in Westeros, not our Tyrell and Dornish allies. They will think you weak and foolish if you bed a sellsword."

She knew he was right. "Varys said the same a short while ago," she told him, her excitement diminishing. "He even had a list of possible husbands among the Westerosi nobility."

"Such as?"

"Lord so and so and ser this and that…the names mean nothing to me." And then she felt her body tremble and she sat down, shaking, and he came to her side, on bended knee.

"What is it? Are you ill?"

"No…not in that way. But you know better than any my true illness…I fear my womb is barren."

He nodded. "It may be so. You lost a child."

"And may I ever bear another? What man would marry me if I cannot give him children?"

"I would," he said without hesitation.

She touched his face with her right hand. "My strong bear…you know that cannot be."

He stood, his face stern. "Is it because of my past? The scandal that follows me east and west?"

"There is that," she said. She had to tell him the truth. "But I also fear I do not love you."

He stared at her for a long moment and then said one word, "Aye," and he turned and left her.

She poured a cup of wine and gulped it, to steady her nerves, and to drive away her fears. He loves me still, she thought, and will always…but he cannot be my husband.

Daario came a short time later. She felt her body ache for him, but she had to be stern. "We cannot carry on like we did in Meereen," she told him, leaving him standing, not even inviting him to sit.

"Why not?" he asked, stepping closer to her. "Who is to know that does not already?"

"Many, people who are and will be our allies. I cannot bed a man of such…such…"

"Low birth?" he said with a hint of mirth. "Dubious reputation? That did not stop us in the east."

"We are not longer in the east. Soon I will be Queen of all Westeros. As I said to you in Meereen, I will need a husband from the nobility of Westeros."

"And where does it say a queen, even a married queen, cannot have a lover?"

"No where, but if I am to have a husband you cannot be in the shadows. I will not have blood, yours or someone else's, spilled over this."

He smiled. "You know I would win…and then you would have to hang me."

"Yes."

"Very well…Your Grace," he said with a mocking bow. "You know the ship I am on…if you change your mind."

When he left she let out a breath she had unwittingly been holding in. "Gods,…men."

The next day they sailed on the outgoing tide, taking leave of Tarth at last. The army was rested, the horses fed and strong again, the ships holds full of supplies, including much grain for the citizens of a city who she soon would have to feed.

"More than three hundred thousands live there," Varys had told her. "And that is a modest count. No one knows for certain. With winter coming they will eat through whatever food Cersei has put aside, if any. My experience with her tells me she more than likely did not plan so far ahead. They will certainly need the food we bring. From my time on the small council I know Robert and his successors sought to have a three to five years supply on hand in the granaries near the Blackwater docks. But Petyr Baelish was in charge of those granaries and I fear I never knew exactly how much was in storage. I did learn he liked to manipulate the grain market, to artificially raise the price, so he could sell less for more coin."

"Did not Robert control this? Was not the grain for the people in winter?"

"Sadly, Robert controlled very little, Your Grace, and cared even less. Only two winters we had during his seventeen year rule, short winters, and the citizens did not go hungry. Now, there is a fear of a long winter, and with these White Walkers…who knows?"

So warned, Daenerys bought as much grain as she could from Tarth, though the farmers were reluctant to sell as they too had a winter to face. She hoped it was enough.

North they sailed, a stiff breeze behind them, and the first day they made good time. The following days they were not so lucky, as contrary winds and high seas buffeted the ships, caused some damage, and saw more than a few accidents as spars broke and sailors were washed overboard. After three days of this they neared the turning point into Blackwater Bay. Around the peninsula called Massey's Hook they would sail, said Captain Inesto, then two or three more days and they would be before the city.

All knew the plan, it being decided before they left Tarth. She would fly over the city with her dragons, to see what was what, while the fleet began siege preparations. They would land on the north side of the bay, on a short stretch of coastline that came close to the road from the city to the small town of Rosby. She would fly in and destroy any troops that were present there, opening the way for the soldiers to land. Once assembled the army would march on the city. If they did not open the gates, she would burn them.

"A short battle it will be," she had said. "I hope."

No one had voice agreement with her and all looked worried. Ser Jorah spoke on what they feared. "We will lose many as well, khalessi. They will not give up without a fight, dragons or not. The Lannister army is the most professional in all of Westeros. Tywin Lannister made sure of that."

"He's dead," said Yara Greyjoy.

"Ser Jaime is not," Varys said to that. "And many of the officers Lord Tywin trained still serve in that army. Ser Jorah is right…unless the citizens panic at the sight of the dragons. Then the Lannisters will have their hands full."

But all their fears were for nothing. With the fleet just over the horizon from the city, on a cold, cloudy morning, she went aloft, her on Drogon and her two other children following as usual, to scout ahead just after the dawn…and in the distance, as the city of her dreams finally revealed itself…she saw smoke, long columns of smoke rising, and she knew it was not the normal fires of a city trying to keep warm or cook its breakfast.

As she flew closer snow began to fall, white and cold, her first experience with it, and she shivered despite her warm clothing and the warmth of the dragon between her legs. As the snow blew in her face it was difficult to see and she could smell the city before she could see it clearly. A rank stench, the smell of fire and sewage and…death.

Suddenly she was over the city, and down below all was chaos. Long black scars she saw, streets buckled and collapsed, making great rents in the landscape. Buildings had tumbled into piles of masonry, and fires were burning, with small figures around them trying to douse the flames. Walls had been breached, leaving great holes in the defenses. And there was the Red Keep, home of her ancestors…and now a shell of a building, walls gone, windows shattered, the roof collapsed in places, two towers half fallen over, with stone and brick scorched in many places.

There in a cleared courtyard was a woman, standing, and waving to her…a dark haired woman, with many people around her, and banners, a spear piercing a sun…Dorne. The woman was not blond as Cersei Lannister was supposed to be, and no Lannister banners did she see anywhere. Dany now knew the truth. Too late she had come. The battle was over…and the Dornish had won.

All this was soon proven false. She landed with her dragons in the courtyard, a dragon queen come home, to find it destroyed. As she climbed off Drogon's back she took her first step on mainland Westeros…and felt not as she expected, no thrill, no joy…just weariness.

The dark-haired woman was dressed in light browns, with high boots, and a fur cape, appropriate wear for the snow and cold. The fur mantle of her cape was covered in the falling snow, and some flakes were in her hair as well. Nearby were three younger women, all armed and hovering as if they were bodyguards for the older woman. All of the people were looking in awe at Dany and her dragons, looks she was used to. The older woman approached, cautiously, and then got down on one knee in the snowy courtyard, and the rest followed her gesture.

"Your Grace, welcome home…to what the Lannisters left you, at least."

"Rise, my good people," Dany said and they did so. "Thank you, Lady…"

"I am no lady, Your Grace," the woman said and Dany now saw how beautiful she was. "I am Ellaria Sand, ruler of Dorne. Though I rule, a bastard I was born, so no noble titles I am allowed to have."

Dany now knew who she was, Varys having supplied all the news of Dorne, including the fact that this woman had murdered Prince Doran and his son. But past Dornish politics were outside of her control and she needed this woman if she ruled Dorne, no matter how terrible her crimes on the way to reach power.

"Well, we shall have to see about that," Dany said. "I have been told that the Dornish rulers are titled prince or princess."

Ellaria smiled. "Yes, they have been, always."

"Then you shall be so called as well." A gesture to her vanity, one that would win her to Dany's side more securely. And mayhaps help secure Ellaria's seat in Dorne as well.

"I am honored, Your Grace," she replied and she sounded sincere enough.

"What has happened here, Princess Ellaria?" Dany asked, getting to the point.

"The Lannisters have fled, gone west," the newly minted princess told her. "Before they left they did all this."

"There was no battle?"

"No, Your Grace. They fled in the dark of night, and used hidden stores of wildfire to destroy as much of the city as they could after they were gone. That was five days ago…we are still fighting the fires, as you can see."

"Gods," Dany said as she went to the edge of the courtyard and looked out over the city. "How many dead?"

Ellaria came to her side. "We know not…tens of thousands it seems. We are still looking for survivors, but mainly finding bodies. We burn them, on advice of the maesters, who say disease will follow if we do not cleanse the city of the dead. Many have fled outside the city, and are camped on the old tourney grounds and to the north near the Rosby road. More have crossed the Blackwater and are camped there. We are doing what we can for them."

"I thank you and your people for that. I have many questions, but they can wait. My fleet approaches, and will be here by midday. How fair the docks?"

"Not damaged, Your Grace. Nor are the granaries and warehouses along the Blackwater. We managed to keep the fires in the city."

"Good. My fleet will sail up the Blackwater and land at the docks. We will help you as much as we can. I have one more question that needs answering. Are you in pursuit of the Lannisters?"

"Yes, I sent all our cavalry. We hope the Tyrells will join them at the Blackwater bridges to the west."

"Good. I must go, and tell my commanders what is happening."

"Your Grace, what of your coronation?" Ellaria asked.

"The Iron Throne has survived the fires?"

"It has."

So close she was to her goal, but much was as she had not expected. Ellaria called her 'Your Grace' but in truth she was not yet Queen of Westeros, not until she sat on the throne and was so declared. But the time for that was not now.

"It has waited for a Targaryen this many years it can wait a bit more," she said. "I will return."

With that she climbed on Drogon's back and once more she and her children took to the air, with awed looks coming from all who saw them.

As Dany flew east towards her fleet she knew her work was not yet done in the south. Ser Jorah's words filled her head, warning of the White Walkers, and what they may do. But the time for that was not now. Jon Snow and his sister and the rest would have to deal with them as best they could, until Dany and her dragons could join them.

* * *

 **Winterfell – Sansa**

They came up the Kingsroad, more frozen than alive, some three thousand men of the Vale and many supply wagons. A heavy snowfall had blanketed the land, making the last part of their journey extremely difficult. Some men had frostbite, and others were ill, and Sansa ordered the maester and his healers to find room for them inside. The castle was getting crowded, with wounded from the battle still recovering, and every room was filled. Tents sprang up everywhere, inside and outside of the castle walls, and men worked every day in the nearby forests cutting trees for the ever hungry fires. The Vale men brought much food with them, thankfully, and their own tents, plus two young maesters to help out. More men were coming their leaders later told Sansa, possible three to four thousand more were moving from the Vale, and she had no idea where she would put them.

In the crowds that came through the gates Sansa did not notice the strangers at first. She was with Brienne by her side, trying to decide where to put everyone, when out of the corner of her eye she saw the three of them climb off of their horses…three figures not in Vale colors, bundled up in snow covered furs and capes…and with them was a huge direwolf.

Sansa stared and the shortest of the three stared back, reached up, and pulled the hood of the snowy cape back…and then Sansa gasped, as tears sprang to her eyes.

"Arya," she barely whispered and then she yelled. "Arya!" and the two ran to each other through the slush and mud of the courtyard and then she was hugging her little sister, holding onto her tightly, and both were gasping and crying.

"Gods," Sansa said as she pulled back and looked at her. "Where….how…?"

"It's a long story," Arya said as she wiped her eyes. Then Sansa looked at the huge animal by Arya's side.

"Is it Nymeria?"

"Yes…she found me, in the Riverlands. And these are my companions. Ser Bronn…"

"I know Bronn," Sansa said, her demeanor changing, getting mad. "Arya, he serves the Lannisters. What is he doing here?"

"I serve them no more, my lady," Bronn said with a dip of his head. "I turned my cloak, and swore my sword to your sister…and you if need be."

Sansa was taken aback by this news but kept her wits. She knew he was a formidable warrior and better he was on her side than the Lannisters. "Very well. I accept."

"Terms of payment we can discuss later," Bronn added.

"Terms of payment?"

"He sells his sword," Tyrion said as he approached. "He doesn't give it away."

"There you are, you little shit," said Bronn with a grin as they shook hands. "Been looking for you."

"Indeed? Well, you should have looked east. I was in Meereen."

"I told your brother that's where you must have went."

"And how is he?"

"He wants your blood."

"For Father?"

"Aye."

"Best we talk on this in private later." He now looked at Arya. "Lady Arya…one more that was missed for such a long time. Welcome home."

"Who do you serve now?" Arya asked him, a stern look on her face.

"Daenerys Targaryen," Tyrion said. "And your sister."

"All true," Sansa said to Arya's questioning look. "Lord Tyrion has been most helpful. As for you, Ser Bronn, we will discuss payment later." Sansa knew him well enough when he served Lord Tyrion and was not surprised he wanted money. Now her eyes fell on the third person, a big man with very blue eyes and black hair sticking out under his fur hat. "And this is…?"

"Gendry," Arya told her. "He's my friend."

"My lady," Gendry said with a dip of his head.

Sansa was staring at him, and his cheeks turned red and it was not from the cold. "Gendry…a blacksmith of King's Landing?" Sansa asked.

"Yes…how did you know?" Arya asked, surprised.

"Because I told her," said Ser Davos as he joined them, and then he clasped Gendry's hand with his good left one. "Gods, lad, it is good to see you. What brings you to Winterfell?"

"Her," Gendry replied, looking to Arya, and then he blushed some more as they all stared at him, Bronn chuckling as well. "Ah…it's a long story."

Long into the evening they told their stories as they sat and ate and talked, and many were joined again that had long been separated. Tyrion and Pod were happy to see their friend Bronn again, and Ser Davos and Gendry spoke at length on many things, as did Arya and Sansa. Arya was not happy to see Brienne, but Sansa told her how Brienne and Pod had saved her and Theon from the Boltons and so Arya grew a little warmer towards the warrior woman.

"Theon still lives?" Arya asked as she sipped some ale at the table they all shared in the great hall.

"He does as far as we know," Sansa told her. "He and his sister sail with Queen Daenerys." And then she knew what Arya was thinking. "Arya, he saved me, he…"

"Attacked our home," Arya said, her voice rising. "Maester Luwin is dead, I heard, and Ser Rodrik, and many more. I thought Bran and Rickon were dead! For years I thought this…and now I just heard Rickon is really dead, but Bran is alive."

"All true," Sansa admitted.

"Theon must die."

Sansa stared at her and then she stood. "Come with me," she said.

"What? I'm not…"

"Come with me…now."

All went silent around them and then Arya just stood and followed her big sister out the door and across the courtyard, with Nymeria at her heels. "Stay," Arya said, and Nymeria did as she commanded.

"Where are we going?" Arya asked as she tried to keep up to Sansa's long strides.

"To my solar."

"Your solar! It's Father's solar!"

Sansa turned around and took her by the shoulders, gently, not rough. Arya was taller than she remembered but Sansa was taller still, and she looked down and stared into her eyes. "Arya…Mother and Father are dead, Robb is dead, Rickon as well."

Arya gulped. "I know. I told you I was there when Father died. I was so close when Mother and Robb were killed."

"Sorry…I know it is hard and I miss them terribly, but they are all gone, and we must get on with our lives now. Jon and Bran are at the Wall…so, when they are not here in Winterfell, I am in command."

Arya almost laughed but then stopped herself. "Okay…so…it's your solar."

"Good. We must talk in private."

"Can't this wait. I'm cold, I'm tired, I just want to go to my old room and sleep for a thousand years."

"It can't wait."

Shortly they were at her table in her solar. "I spoke to the Hound," Sansa said to begin.

"Oh," Arya said, her voice quiet. "Is he here?"

"You do not seem surprised he is alive?"

"They told us at Moat Cailin. Where is he?"

"Gone to the Wall. Arya…he told me everything."

"Oh. Everything?"

"Yes…about all those people you killed."

"More since I left him."

Sansa felt a shock. "What? Who?"

"Ser Meryn Trent, him I did in Braavos. I took his eyes and then I cut his throat. Then there was Walder Frey. I cut his throat, too. After I killed two of his sons, and made sure he knew it and who I was. And Ilyn Payne. His head I put on a spike at King's Landing. Killed a few more who you don't know."

Sansa was at a loss for words and felt a flood of emotions. "Those three…you killed them…for revenge…for our family? For me?"

"Yes…and for me. Ser Meryn killed my friend in King's Landing."

"He beat me as well. Joffrey commanded him to do it"

"Gods, I didn't know that. I'm not surprised though. Sansa…the man was sick…he liked beating little girls."

"How do you know?"

"I just do. Nevermind. So…Ilyn Payne, he killed our father, we both were there for that. Walder Frey killed our mother and brother. So they all had to die."

"How did you do it?"

Her answer was cold. "It's easy. Any man can be killed, if you think on it, and are patient, and strike when the chance arises."

Now Sansa knew Sandor was right. Her sister had become a killer. She knew she had to put her foot down. "But not Theon."

"Sansa, after what he did here? Gods, he must die."

"No. He saved me, he's changed, he knows he did horrible things. He was tortured by Ramsey, he…"

"How did he die? Ramsey Bolton?"

"I…I…"

"Fed him to his dogs?"

"Yes. How do you know?"

"The Vale men said they heard that story. I said it can't be true. My sister Sansa wouldn't hurt a fly, I said. She just wants to sing songs, wear pretty dresses, and dream of falling in love."

"I used to. I've changed."

"So have I," Arya said. Then she stood and took out the sword at her side and put it on the table. "This is Needle, a sword of Winterfell. Mikken made it and Jon gave it to me before we went to King's Landing. I wasn't learning how to dance, Sansa. Father hired a swordsman from Braavos to teach me how to fight. Syrio Forel…who was murdered by Ser Meryn the day Father was arrested. This is what Theon and all our enemies deserve. Cold steel." Arya picked up the sword and put it in a loop on her belt. "I'm going to bed, to my old room, and if anyone is there, I'm kicking them out. If Gendry asks, that's where I'll be."

"What?"

"I'm not a little girl anymore, Sansa, no more than you. Gendry is more than my friend. Now he is my lover, my man."

Sansa was now truly shocked but kept calm. "I…I am happy for you. But Arya…what will people say if he sleeps in your room? You are not wed…are you?"

Arya blushed. "No! I mean…no."

"It won't look good."

"I don't care," Arya said and Sansa knew she really didn't. "Look… I will follow your and Jon's commands…Bran too, now he is our lord. But in some things I must be allowed to do as I want. This is one of them."

"And Theon?"

She was about to answer when a knock came to the door. It was Ser Davos. "My ladies, we have trouble. The Vale men have learned Lord Baelish is in a cell."

"What's Baelish doing in a cell?" Arya asked. "I thought he helped you and Jon."

"I arrested him," Sansa told her. "For murder and treason."

Arya just gaped at her. "Who did he murder?"

"Our Aunt Lysa."

As Arya's eyes widened, a sudden shout could be heard from outside. "Afraid things are getting out of hand," Davos said and Sansa and Arya followed him down the stairs with the two guards who were on her door.

In the main courtyard all was chaos. Brienne, Pod, Tyrion, Gendry, and Bronn were back up by the main entrance to the great keep, blocking the doorway, while a large body of Vale men, several hundred by the looks of things, was standing nearby, armed, while their leaders were shouting at Tyrion and the rest. Behind the Vale men were many Winterfell guards, weapons drawn and Sansa knew it would soon come to blood. Already Bronn and Brienne had their weapons out and Gendry and Pod did as well.

"Why was he arrested?" one Vale man shouted.

"We demand his release," said another.

"He was arrested for treason and murder," Tyrion told them.

One Vale leader snorted. "False words are all you ever get from a Lannister. Where is Lady Stark?"

"Here is the lady of Winterfell, now," Tyrion told them as he saw Sansa "She will explain all."

All went quiet as Sansa stood in front of her people. "My lady," said the Vale men's leader, and older knight with the sigil of House Redfort, a red castle on a white field, on his surcoat. "Mayhaps you can explain why Lord Baelish has been arrested."

Sansa looked him directly in the eye. "I am afraid Lord Tyrion is correct, ser. I ordered Lord Baelish arrested. He is charged with murder and treason."

"Murder?" another said in confusion. "Who has he murdered?"

They would find out eventually. Now was as good a time as any to test their loyalty to House Arryn and the bonds of their alliance. She spoke in a loud voice so her words would carry. "Lord Baelish is accused of murdering your lord's mother, Lysa Arryn."

There was a stunned silence so Sansa kept talking. "My aunt never leaped to her death. Lord Baelish pushed her. I saw it all."

And then there was bedlam, shouts and curses, and demands he be dragged out and hung here and now. Davos was behind her talking fast. "If he dies without a trial this will not bode good for the future."

Or maybe it would, for some of the blame would be taken from her shoulders. But finally order was restored by the Vale leaders. The Redfort knight spoke for them again. "What is to be done with him, my lady?"

"We will have a trial, as soon as Lord Royce replies from the Wall. I sent him word of the arrest and the reason for it. As senior leader of the Vale I expect he will want to be present for a trial."

"As will Lord Arryn," said another knight. "Has word been sent to him?"

Sansa sighed. "No…I…I have not." She knew she should have lied but then when the lie was found out it would bring more trouble. Her words had caused some murmuring in the ranks but then they were quite again.

Now Tyrion spoke. "We feared your young lord will not take kindly to this turn of events. We all know how…delicate…his temperament is."

"So it is," said the Redfort knight. "But he must be told. Do you have a bird for the Eyrie?"

"Yes," Sansa admitted. "But I would ask you not do this."

"My lady, this is your home, and we will abide by your rules," he said. "But I strongly suggest you send word to Lord Arryn."

Davos spoke up. "Even if it means he will order you all to come home?"

The old knight looked uncertain now. "The boy loves Littlefinger, my ladies, my lords. I too fear what you say will come true. But he is our lord, and we must send word or we will have failed in our duty to House Arryn."

"Very well," said Sansa. "You may write the letter, ser…"

"Ser Dalton Warren, my lady, master at arms for House Redfort."

"Please come with me to the maester's tower, Ser Dalton. Brienne, Ser Davos, please accompany us, if you would."

Ser Dalton turned to his men and told them to return to their beds or their duties. Slowly they dispersed as did the men of Winterfell. The letter was soon written and sealed, and Maester Wolkan promised to send it by first light. Sansa had insisted on seeing what was written. In short simple sentences it told of Baelish being arrested for treason and murder…but not who he had killed.

"You should tell him it is his mother Baelish killed," Davos said.

Ser Dalton shook his head. "It is not my place to say such. I leave that to Lord Royce and others of higher standing. I am just a knight. Our lord's health is not strong, as you know Lady Sansa, since you spent time with him. Such news that Baelish killed his mother may give him a bad shock. He may act rashly."

"He may anyway," Davos said.

"Yes," said Ser Dalton. "But the letter must be sent."

"Of course," said Sansa and then at her command Maester Wolkan sealed the letter.

After these events Sansa was exhausted but when she got back to her rooms Arya was waiting for her, sitting at the table, half asleep.

"You should be in bed," Sansa said. Then she sniffed he air. Her sister stank. "And you need a bath."

"That I do," Arya said. "But we need have words first. Tell me about Baelish. Everything."

So Sansa talked, and told her it all, and when she was done Arya said the one thing that had been on Sansa's mind for many weeks now.

"He should die."

Sansa nodded. "He should."

"Then why isn't he dead! He started this war, you said, and now our family is destroyed because of him!"

"It's not that simple!"

"Yes, it is," Arya said, her voice lower. "You want someone to die, you find a way, and you do it."

"In your world maybe, but here I have to think of many things, Arya. I have to think of the Wall, and the Walkers, and Jon and the army, and the people of Winterfell and the North. We need the Vale. We need their men. We need…to survive."

"We don't need Baelish. You heard those men outside. They wanted to hang him just on your word he is guilty."

"I can't do that. He is a great lord. He must have a trial."

"If he is found guilty what will you do? Send him on his way, like the red woman?"

"I…we need her, too!" Sansa said, feeling flustered. "Don't tell me…no Arya, why her?"

"She did things to Gendry, she…"

"Put leeches on him and used his blood to kill Robb? Is that it? Ser Davos told me it all." This was the one thing no one had talked on at the table earlier, at least not within Sansa and Arya's hearing.

"Yes…and no. The Boltons and Freys killed Robb. But that woman wanted to curse him as well and she wanted to burn Gendry for her black magic. If Davos hadn't saved him he'd be dead now."

"I can't let you kill her, Arya. I told you of her visions, that she is needed at the Wall. That's why I sent her there. I told you how she brought Jon back to life."

"Yes, and you told me how she burned Stannis' daughter. For that and what she did to Gendry she must die."

"Do you love him?"

Now it was Arya's turn to get flustered. "I…I…maybe."

"Oh…I see."

"Sansa…she is a witch. She is evil. Even if I didn't love Gendry, I'd still say she had to die."

"Maybe she will. She saw her own death in the flames in a great battle at the Wall."

"Good…I mean, it's not good there is a battle, but it's good she will die. And so should Baelish. Sooner than later. Once he is dead, there will be no need for a trial, no way he can squirm his way out of it. He started a war that saw our parents and brothers dead, Sansa. And so many others. He gave you to the Boltons. He…"

"He loves me."

Arya gasped. "What?"

"He says he loves me…but it is our mother he loved. I heard him say it just before he pushed Aunt Lysa out the moon door. Maybe he thinks I am her, or I reminded him of her when they were our age. But the man is relentless. He will never stop until he gets what he wants."

"Or is dead."

Sansa stared at her and knew she was right. It had to be done. She knew that weeks ago, but not how to do it. And here was a killer…her own sister…but still, a person who knew how to kill. Now it was Sansa's turn to whisper. She leaned in close. "Can it not look like murder?"

"It can," her sister said, her voice now calm. "No one will ever know who did it or how it was done."

"What will you do?"

"No questions. Just know the Faceless Men of Braavos taught me many ways to do this."

Sansa gaped at her. "You never told me you were with them! You said you sold shellfish in Braavos."

"Now you know the real truth. Only Gendry and Bronn know and I want to keep it that way."

"Of course."

"So…do you want this done?"

"One question first."

Arya sighed impatiently. "Yes?"

"Before I answer I want to know when it will happen."

"A few days or sooner and it will happen. Best if these things are not rushed."

"Good. So not before those Vale men have left for the Wall. They may want his blood now but if they think he was murdered it is ours they will ask for."

"I told you it won't look like murder."

"They may still think it. Also, not before I hear back from Lord Royce at the Wall. Then I will give my final answer."

"Agreed. But the longer you wait, the more likely he will find a way to get himself out of the trouble he is in. Then I will take action. Agreed?"

Sansa wanted one more thing first. "If I give you Baelish, will you let Theon live?"

Arya's eyes flared in anger for a brief moment. "Both should die."

"Not Theon."

Again she looked angry but then calmed herself. "Bran is Lord of Winterfell now. His orders I will obey on this matter. We will let him decide Theon's fate if we ever find him."

Sansa did not like it but nodded. "Agreed….to everything."

Arya said not another word, but stood and left. Sansa now knew for certain her sister was no longer that little girl she last saw in King's Landing so long ago, a time that seemed like another life. Sansa knew she would do it and do it as she said she would. With Baelish dead, one worry would be gone, but more would arise…now more than ever she needed Lord Royce's answer to her letter, needing to know where the Vale men would stand.

And that brought to mind another worry, one she needed to take care of now. She was tired but needed to do this one more thing first, a thing that might come back to haunt her and her family later, but it had to be done. Her two guards followed her as she left the great keep.

The maester was still awake, in his tower. "The letter for the Vale," she said and he handed it over without a word.

She walked to his hearth and threw the letter in the fire. She watched it burn and then looked at Wolkan. "If they ask, you sent the bird. Better send one at first light in case any are watching."

"I have one ready for White Harbor, asking for more supplies for the Wall."

Sansa knew Davos had requested this earlier today. "Good." She stepped outside and looked at the two guards who were minding the maester's tower and rookery tonight. "No one is to enter without my leave. Tell your relief as well."

"Yes, my lady," they said as one. She had ordered this already but her fresh words would reinforce her commands.

With that Sansa felt better, but still sleep did not come easy. Her sister was home at last, but with her came more possible troubles. Again Sansa felt like she was not in command of her fate, with so many things tugging at her from so many sides. All she could do was wait to see how events would play out.

* * *

 **The Goldroad – Jaime**

For many days he avoided them, his sister and her pet, the grey rat as Jaime now thought of Qyburn, and still his anger had not cooled. Everyone in the army knew what had happened, the few stragglers having seen the destruction and spreading the news to the rest. Lord Tarly had seen it as well and cursed Jaime roundly when they met the next morning as the army rested a few hours before moving on.

"Cursed you are and cursed the Lannister shall remain for all time," Tarly said as the army rested by the upper Blackwater bridges. They were alone in his tent, eating breakfast at a small table, with two guards outside.

"It was not my doing," Jaime replied. "Cersei…for what they did to her."

Tarly stared at him and Jaime was sure he did not believe him, but then he nodded once. "Maybe so. I have heard you argued with her as the city burned. Word is spreading, of that and the city's destruction. How will you hold this army together when they know the truth?"

"I know not," Jaime said, his words quiet. "I am sure you are enjoying this, your enemies at each other's throats."

"On the contrary," Tarly replied. "None of this is good for the realm. End this madness now, I say. You cannot win, now more than ever. When the realm learns what was done nothing will stop their vengeance. How many more must die before your sister sees this is true?"

"Many, I am sure. She will not give up…and I cannot either. I know all that awaits me is a rope or chopping block, maybe even a dragon's belly."

"Such things can be negotiated," Tarly said. "Many a man accused of a crime has been sent to the Wall and taken the black. Maybe even you, if you do the right thing now."

Jaime had to laugh at that. "The right thing? Like arrest my sister? Or kill her? Even if I did that, your new queen would still want my head. I did kill her father after all. I can't recall if the Wall has ever had a kingslayer in its ranks. No, she will want her vengeance."

"Maybe so," Tarly had to agree.

"Best we forget this conversation, my lord. Else you might lose your head for talking treason. Or I mine for not reporting it."

"She would never kill you."

"I know not what she will do or not do anymore," Jaime said and then he stood, his breakfast half eaten, and went outside, tired of the conversation. Jaime knew that all Tarly had said was filled with many truths. There really was no hope for them now. They had gone too far…the realm would have it's vengeance, in one way or another.

Later that morning they broke camp and pushed on west. Ser Addam reported some Dornish cavalry was in their wake, but it was a few riders as yet and the rearguard kept vigilante. All the bridges over the upper Blackwater they had burned or pulled down, so their left flank was protected. More riders they sent ahead to do the same to any more bridges least the Tyrells steal a march on them and get ahead of the army across the Goldroad.

Jaime was in the vanguard and rearguard for the most, with Cersei in the center, well protected by her Queensguard and more. A wheeled carriage she rode in now, with Qyburn, and what they talked about or what they plotted he knew not. He sent messengers to her each day to give a report but he did not see her…and she did not ask for him.

Tarly was right, for soon the whole army knew they had argued and about what she had done to the city. More than one word of disgust and anger was heard, and one morning Jaime discovered that two men had been hung in the night, having been foolish enough to speak their minds within earshot of one of Qyburn's informers. The rumor was that one had called Cersei a bitch, and the other said she was a cunt who should be hung, and for that they lost their lives. After that, no more did anyone speak ill of the Queen, or of her at all, and a sense of paranoia gripped many, unsure who was a friend or who an enemy and an informer for the grey rat.

On they drudged, under grey skies and increasing cold, past the last Blackwater bridge, and with every day more enemy cavalry was gathering behind them. One morning just after dawn Ser Addam had the rearguard cavalry suddenly turn and attack them, and the Dornish lost over a hundred men, Ser Addam fewer than twenty. After that the enemy was more cautious, putting scouts forward and keeping the main body of cavalry well back.

They left the valley of the Blackwater and now were in flatlands, farmland, the northern Reach, and the river barrier was behind them, it curving to the northwest to its source in the foothills of the Westerlands. Now the outriders to the south began to pick up signs of the Tyrells getting closer, smoke on the horizon, and large numbers of camp fires at night. And then the snows began, the morning of the sixth day since they had left King's Landing.

"Winter, my lord," Ser Addam said as they rode together in the rearguard and snow fell all around them.

"Sooner than I had wanted," Jaime replied. "Maybe it is time we dealt with our Dornish shadows."

Ser Addam smiled. "I would say so, my lord. I have five thousand cavalry itching for a fight."

"Good. Let them loose. At your discretion."

This time they gave the Dornish more than a bloody nose, coming riding out of the snow just as they were starting to make camp for the night. Over five hundred Dornishmen died by the best guess, with just as many wounded for certain. Twenty prisoners Ser Addam brought back as well. His losses were less than one hundred.

The prisoners were dragged before Jaime and put on their knees by a blazing fire that gave warmth and light as the snow fell. "What are your commander's plans?" he asked them.

They were silent until one bearded dark-eyed dark-haired Dornishman spat at Jaime's feet. "May the gods curse your soul, Kingslayer," he said.

"They have already," Jaime replied. "Kill him."

A sword was swiftly thrust through his back and the man died with a scream, spurting blood.

"Now, who wants to answer my question?" Jaime asked.

One man started babbling. "No plans, just follow you, my lord. Report where you go."

"And after that?"

Another spoke up. "They are waiting for the Queen and her dragons. Then you will burn in hell. The armies will move in and kill any who still live."

Just then twenty men rode up…with Qyburn. "Lord Jaime," he said from horseback. "I was told we have taken prisoners."

"We have," Jaime said through gritted teeth. "I suppose you want them."

"Just one or two will suffice."

Jaime shook his head. "You can't have them. They are now under my protection, rat. I will not have you torture them."

"Yet you seem to have killed one already."

"Yes, and he died well, and quickly, and his death loosened a few tongues. Now get out of my sight before I do the same to you."

"As you wish," Qyburn said and he and his men rode away.

"Scum," Ser Addam growled.

"That he is."

"My lord, what that man said about dragons. If true…we are awfully exposed out here."

Jaime saw he was right. He needed time to think. "Burn the dead man. Put the prisoners with the Tyrell prisoners. Make sure all are well guarded." Ser Addam shouted out orders to the men and the prisoners were taken away. Jaime turned to his squire. "Call all commanders to come to me after camp is made for the night."

They came to his tent and on the table was a map. "We can't stay on this road, my lords. Winter has come and so soon will Daenerys Targaryen. If we are caught stuck in the snow by her dragons I fear not much will be left of this army."

"Where can we go?" one asked. "The only good road west we are on."

"Stoney Step," suggested Ser Addam. "Follow the Blackwater to its source, then across the foothills to Pinkmaiden and then the Golden Tooth."

"And what if the snows are deep?" another asked. "There are no proper roads in this area. It could take weeks to make it. We could lose half the men to the cold and hunger. We haven't the supplies for such a journey."

Jaime knew he was right. "Then we have no choice. We must stick to the plan, moving as fast as we can. Deep Den is the nearest fort in our lands and it's still three or four more days away. Five hours rest per night, my lords. No more. We leave before the dawn. That is all."

With the dawn they were on the road again and then came more snow. All day it snowed, a howling blizzard, making them all wish they had never left King's Landing. When they finally made camp they had barely gone fifteen miles, such a short distance on a proper road. At this rate it would take a week or more to reach Deep Den. Jaime began to feel that leaving King's Landing was a colossal mistake. At least they would have been warm when they died.

The maesters reported many cases of frostbite, mainly fingers, toes, and noses, and they were busy through the night. Ser Addam reported no one behind them, none his rearguard could see anyway.

It snowed all night and the next day they did not even make ten miles. A cluster of small villages surrounded by farmland they came on and there they made camp for the night, with many men indoors but many more still under canvas.

With the nightfall the snows ended and a short time later the skies cleared, but there was no moon so it was still dark. Cold came with the clear sky and a bitter frost fell on the land, making man and beast shiver around their camp fires.

Jaime refused to take a house for his shelter, telling the maesters to use the one selected for him for the wounded and sick. His tent would do, as it had since they had left the capital. A hot brazier Jaime kept lit in his tent and he invited Tarly to join him. He looked worse for wear, shivering as he warmed his hands over the brazier. The sword Heartsbane was in Jaime's squire's hands, about to hang it on a wooden rack where he had just placed Jaime's armor.

"Careful with that sword, boy," Tarly said. "It's been in my family for centuries."

"Yes, my lord," the young squire said.

"Find some food for us," Jaime commanded and the squire left with a dip of his head.

Tarly's eyes drifted towards his sword, a grim look on his face. "I would not if I were you," Jaime said. "You would never get away with it."

"Maybe not. But you'd still be dead. In your prime I could never have bested you, but now…" He nodded to the steel hand where flesh had once been.

"Yes, perhaps. But two men stand just outside the tent flap…both wearing armor, with orders to kill you at the slightest provocation. Are you so sure you do not want to see your family again?"

Tarly's tensed up body relaxed. "No."

"Sit. Have some wine. It will help take the sting out of your captivity."

Tarly sat and took the offered cup. "I heard the Starks had you for months tied to a post in a muddy cage."

"True. And they were not so timely with taking me to the privy. A hard time it was. Your imprisonment seems to be going better."

"Not so for my men. Some are ill, some still with festering wounds."

"The maesters have been around?"

"They have. Still some will die."

"The misfortunes of war, my lord. Once we reach the Rock we will ransom most, you included."

"If we reach the Rock. No snows like this have I ever seen," Tarly said.

"Nor I. I fear winter is truly on us and will not leave for some time."

"So Sam tried to warn me. Maybe all his talk on White Walkers wasn't so much nonsense."

"I am not ready to believe in ice demons yet. Still, if he is right, we are all marching the wrong way."

Tarly put down his cup and stared at him. "If you had the full say in where this army goes, what would you do?"

"Do? Let me see…yes, somewhere warm, maybe the Arbor…or the Summer Isles."

Tarly growled at him. "If all you are good for is jests then we have no hope."

"All right. No more jests. My little brother was always better at them than me. What I believe you are trying to say is I should march this army to the North to help Jon Snow. Yes?"

"Yes…now, before it is too late."

"It may already be too late. How can we get to the North if we can barely march ten miles a day? And with the Dornish and your fellow knights of the Reach nipping at our heels?"

"I could end that at least," Tarly said. "I could talk to them all, bring about a truce…at least till we know of the true danger from the Wall. We can prepare. If they overrun the North, we must be ready to face them. At the Neck, or the Trident at least. We can march that far in a month or less."

"To do so would be to think on that treason I said we should not think on or talk about."

"You know I am right. I can see it in your eyes. What do you owe your sister?"

Nothing, he wanted to say, but that would not do, not in front of this man, his enemy.

And then came the sound that changed his world forever.

A screech…a sound so loud and unnerving Jaime felt it jangle every nerve in his body. Tarly was equally stunned and both looked at each other with wide eyes.

"Dragons," said Tarly in a bare whisper.

The army let out a collective shout, and as Jaime and Tarly ran outside the destruction had already begun. The night was alive with fire, pouring down from unseen beasts in the sky. Jaime's vision was momentarily blinded by the intense glare, and when he could see again all was chaos.

Around him men screamed as they burned, flinging themselves down into the snow to douse the flames. Wagons were on fire, horses were running amok, tents were ablaze. The fire had been concentrated on the sides of the road where many men had made camp, and in the cluster of villages ahead. There almost every building was on fire. Jaime's own tent had been spared as it was set apart from the rest.

As he looked at the burning villages he had only one thought in mind. "Cersei." He ran, unmindful of Tarly's shouting, and only when he was too far away he realized he had no armor or weapons on him. It mattered not. This was not an enemy one could slay with a sword.

Ser Addam loomed in front of him. "What do we do?" he shouted.

"Save what you can!" Jaime commanded. "Get the men and supplies away from the road and those villages!"

He ran off to do what he could. Everywhere Jaime saw men still unharmed he shouted for them to run into the darkness and snow, carrying what they could. Ahead he saw a group of crossbowmen looking up in the dark sky…waiting.

Jaime stopped, and listened. He heard the beat of wings…and then a shadow, large and black, blocking out the stars. Then he realized it was three shadows, side by side…and he heard a shouted word.

"DRACARYS!"

Down came three gouts of flame filling the road and its sides and more men died. Jaime felt the heat and flung himself into the snow. Crossbows twanged and bolts flew but they knew not if they hit anything. Jaime turned around and saw the shadows flying towards the east. He prayed they did not come back.

He raced to the small villages and in the first one he shouted for the Queen and men told him she was in the one further on. Ahead he saw more chaos, horses on fire, screaming, fleeing down the road, men flying from the village into the darkness outside of it. He was almost bowled over by a horse and its rider, who fell off into the snow. Jaime reached the man and saw his whole right side was burnt. He gasped once and died. At his left side was a sword and Jaime took it and then began to look for his sister again.

Into the village he went, shouting her name, but no one did he see among the burning buildings, all fled. Finally, a voice answered him.

"The Queen is safe," Qyburn said as he stepped out of the shadows. "She is not even here."

"Where is she?" Jaime demanded.

"She rode on when we stopped. We found a sleigh in the village, and some shaggy sturdy horses to pull it. I would have went as well but the sleigh had no room, not with three of her guards going with her."

But not Clegane, Jaime now saw, as the huge thing that was once a man loomed up beside Qyburn.

"Why did she go?" Jaime asked. "What are you planning now?"

"No plans, no subterfuge. All I do, I do for her. I feared just such a thing happening. An attack by dragons. Her safety is paramount. I insisted she go and she finally agreed. On a sleigh the snow will be less of an impediment. She will reach Deep Den in a day or two."

"She will," Jaime said. "But you won't."

He thrust the sword out, but Clegane was faster and blocked the blow with his huge sword and then with a swipe of his massive left hand he knocked Jaime flying. He landed near a burning building, senseless.

"Pick him up," Qyburn said. Jaime felt the arms reaching under him, the brute strength lifting him up. "Now, put him in the fire."

Clegane did not hesitate. He took one step, two steps, his great arms now squeezing Jaime tight against his breastplate, Jaime hardly able to breath.

"Why?" he gasped.

"Someday you will try to kill me again, that's why," said Qyburn. "The next time you may succeed."

"Cersei will kill you for this!" he managed to say.

"How will she ever know? I will just say you died when the dragons attacked."

Jaime knew he was done, unable to move, the heat from the blazing building fire about to consume him. Gregor Clegane had done the same thing to his brother once…but Jaime knew he would not survive this. He would die in agony, screaming, as he had once watched Rickard Stark die, slowly cooked in his armor by the Mad King. He looked up at the soulless giant's head, the helmet shut tight, and knew there was no use asking for mercy.

And then came a shout, the sound of a sword hitting flesh…and the body stopped, the head dipped forward, and fell off and to the ground.

Clegane fell to his knees and tipped over on his chest, trapping Jaime under his great weight, the heat from the fire so very near, the ground under him all water and mud now.

"NO…no…you cannot kill me!" came Qyburn's shout. "HELP!"

Then came a gargling sound, a wet terrible choking sound.

"Gods, he is heavy!" Lord Tarly said as he pulled the headless body off of Jaime. The arms came loose and Jaime scrambled to this feet and away from the hot fire.

Tarly had his sword Heartsbane in hand. Behind him Qyburn was on his knees, blood pouring from his mouth.

"I cut out his tongue," Tarly said. "For his lies and deceits that have torn our realm apart. I figured you would want to kill him, though I am sorely tempted to do the deed myself."

He held out the sword and Jaime took it. He saw two soldiers nearby, staring in awe at the scene. "You two, pick him up."

They moved to obey, and soon had Qyburn on his feet. Jaime stepped over to him and stared into the grey rat's eyes. "This is for my Uncle Kevan, for Margaery and Loras, for Mace Tyrell, and for all the rest you murdered that day and the other. And most of all for my son Tommen."

He thrust the sword into the man's chest and it was like driving a hot knife into butter, the Valyrian steel slicing through flesh and bone with ease. A wet gargling sound came from the bloody mouth and as the light of life left his eyes Jaime pulled out the sword and the body fell to the ground, the grey rat dead at last.

"Put him in that fire," Jaime commanded and the two soldiers did so, picking up the limp body and tossing it in the building fire, now a smoldering ruin of what was probably once a farmer's nice home.

"I suggest we do the same with what is left of Ser Gregor," Tarly said and it was done with some effort by all four, his head going in as well. Jaime then looked at the two soldiers. "I am your lord. What you saw and did here must never be told to a soul."

"My lord," the two men said with dips of their heads.

"Good, now go find Ser Addam. Tell him I am here and need words."

They left and now Jaime looked around, worried. "Cersei is gone. But not all of her guards."

"I heard it all," Tarly said. "Three Queensguards men are still about…maybe."

"Not your worry. Mine." Jaime stared at him. "Why didn't you let him kill me?"

"I thought on it. But Clegane broke my army and my son died because of that, so he needed destroying. I figured I'd better cut his head off and maybe that would do the deed. Besides, I'm still convinced you might do the right thing yet."

"I might at that." Jaime handed him the sword.

Tarly took it and stared at him. "What now?"

"For my life, I give you back yours."

"I guess you do have some honor after all."

"A drop or two, perhaps. Now a letter I must write. A letter you will deliver."

"To who?"

Jaime looked up into the star filled sky. "Your Queen, that's who."

"What will you ask for?"

"Terms, of course. We cannot fight such power. I will ask for my life in trade for my army joining her side…at least what is left of my army after tonight. If the White Walkers are real, she will need every man and every sword."

"And Cersei?"

Jaime sighed. "She is on her own. I care not what happens to her anymore."

* * *

 **Castle Black – Bran**

They were sending him away, back to Winterfell, and Bran had mixed feelings about this. Glad he would be to see his home and Sansa again, but he felt his work at the Wall was not finished. And now what he feared was coming to pass, that the mark he carried of the Night King may very well undo all the strength the Wall carried and allowed it to collapse.

They did not tell him, he had to guess. Jon and Meera were acting stranger than usual, whispering in the corridor outside his room, talking about things they did not want Bran to hear, and then when Jon said he was sending the two of them back to Winterfell Bran demanded to know why.

"You are the heir to Winterfell," Jon said in what passed for a light hearted way for him, which was hardly cheerful at all. "It was time you took your place as lord of Winterfell."

"That can wait," he said. "I must stay here and do what I must do."

"Bran," Meera began, concern on her face and in voice as always. "We don't know what you must do. And there is the possibility that the mark…"

But Jon interrupted her. "There is a weirwood in Winterfell. There you can know all. I have things to do. Meera…please get him ready. You leave at first light."

"Wait," Bran said. "What about the mark? What is Meera trying to tell me?"

Meera started to speak but Jon shook his head and she got mad. "I will not hide this from him anymore!"

Jon sighed. "Very well. Tell him."

"Bran…we think the spells on the Wall may have been broken when you crossed under it."

"Yes…they may have been," Bran said.

They stared at him. "You knew this would happen?" Jon asked.

"I know nothing," Bran replied. "But Uncle Benjen said he could not cross under because of the spells in the Wall. I thought maybe the same thing would happen that happened in the cave."

"You should have told me!" Meera said, angry at him.

"And then what?" Bran asked. "What would have happened to you and me? We would be left out in the cold to starve? To wait for the wights to come and kill us?"

"Yes!" Meera said, her eyes blazing. "Better that than the whole realm suffering if the Wall collapses!"

Bran would not look at her, and felt his face was hot and he knew his cheeks were red. "I…I could not do that to you. Not to you. If I had said anything, I knew you would never leave my side."

Meera's look and words softened. "Bran…I am just one person."

Now he looked at her and wondered if she knew. "Not one person, Meera…not to me."

Her eyes widened and then she reached out and took his hand and squeezed and she smiled.

Jon cleared his throat and Bran and Meera jumped a bit, as if they had forgotten Jon was in the room. "So…you will go, the two of you. I will give you ten men of Winterfell as an escort."

"Sending me away won't cause the Wall to mend itself," Bran said.

"We know nothing, as you said," Jon told him. "The red woman said…"

"I know," Bran interrupted. "The wolf boy with a thousand eyes she calls me."

"How…?"

"I heard the free folk women talking in the kitchens," Meera told him. "Tormund told them all what Melisandre said to you about Bran."

"Aye…he would," Jon replied. "It is their way."

"She knows what I am, Jon," Bran said. "She knows so much. Maybe the Wall will fall."

"Then you had best not be here when it does," Jon said. "I have enough to worry on without you two as well."

"And who worries on you, Jon Snow?" Meera asked.

"Tormund, and Edd, and all the rest, so not to worry. Now get ready."

"Jon," Bran said as he was about to leave. "What will I tell Sansa…about you?"

Jon knew what he meant. "The truth would serve best. Enough lies have been told about me in the past. No more."

"Have you told anyone else?" Meera asked.

"No…I wanted to wait till the family knows. Sansa…and Arya, wherever she is now."

Jon was about to leave again when Edd came to the door. "She asked to see him again. Won't shut up about it every time someone goes to her room."

Jon said nothing for a moment, then looked to Bran. "Melisandre wants words with you."

"Maybe I should see her," Bran said. "If I am to pass sentence on her, I must know her story, from her."

"Pass sentence?" Edd asked.

"Aye," Jon said. "Bran is Warden of the North as Lord of Winterfell. As such he must pass sentence on Melisandre for her crimes."

"Gods, Jon, the woman said she is going to die here," Edd answered.

"Maybe she will," Jon replied. Then he nodded. "Right, bring her here, four men as escorts, you as well."

"Aye," said Edd and he left.

"You still give commands like you are leader of the Watch," Bran said. "And they listen."

"Old habits," Jon said in a dismissive tone.

"Not habits," Meera said. "Leadership is in your blood, Stark blood, Targaryen blood, and no matter how much you try to deny it, it is still true."

"Aye," Jon said. "A curse, more than a gift if you ask me. Sometimes I wish… nevermind."

"What?" Bran asked. "What do you wish for?"

"Many things, but the gods never do as I want, so I gave up wishing."

A short time later Edd returned with Melisandre. Bran had never met her or even seen her before. She was beautiful in a strange way, and he could feel the room getting warmer as she entered.

She dipped her head to him. "Lord Stark, I am Lady Melisandre from Asshai."

"Hello," said Bran. "I heard you wish to speak to me."

"Yes, my lord." She then looked at Meera and Jon and the guards. "I wish to speak to him alone."

"I will not leave," Jon said, his tone telling her not to argue.

She did not. "Then only you, Jon Snow."

"Aye." He looked to the rest and they started to move. Meera thought to protest but held her tongue. When they were gone, Jon and the red woman sat in the chairs, one on each side of Bran's bed, Jon on the right, she on the left, closest to the door.

"Lord Brandon Stark," the red woman began, her voice soft and somewhat soothing. "What has your brother told you of me?"

"That you come from Asshai, that you have visions, and some power to bring people back to life…and that you burn little girls alive."

"All true, I am afraid," she said.

"You admit to killing Shireen Baratheon?" Bran asked, surprise in his voice clear to hear.

"I have never denied it. This your brother knows."

Bran looked at Jon and he nodded. "Her guilt is not in question in Bran. The sentence to be passed is. I have stayed my hand so far because of the service she did for me…and I stay it now for we may need her again. But as Warden you will have the final say."

"You are chosen as their king, Jon Snow," the red woman said. "Surely you have the final say."

"A king without a crown or a throne. They call me king, but what power do I have? No, I leave this task to Bran. If he is to rule, he must learn how."

She looked nervous and then merely nodded, and turned her eyes back to Bran.

"Why did you kill her?" Bran asked.

"I needed her blood, a king's blood, for my lord's power to work through me. We were snow bound, freezing…and then when she died, the storm lifted. King Stannis marched on Winterfell…and was defeated."

"You killed her for no reason," Jon said, his anger obvious.

"The power of my lord worked…the storm lifted," Melisandre claimed. "As for the rest I was wrong. Stannis was never the prince that was promised…you are, Jon Snow."

Bran looked from one to the other. "What is she talking about?"

"You have not told him?" Melisandre asked, eyebrows raised. "Curious."

"There is nothing to tell," Jon said. "It can't be true."

"And why not? You alone have stood against the great enemy, as Azor Ahai once did."

"He was not alone," Jon replied. "Brandon Stark was with him."

Melisandre smiled. "Yes. And once more a Brandon Stark is with him...with you."

Bran knew what they were talking about, some of it anyway, from his readings and Old Nan's stories. "I am not Brandon the Builder. More like…Brandon the Destroyer, if what you think will happen occurs."

"It will," she said. "But Jon Snow will live, he will get away with his army to Winterfell and he will be the prince that was promised."

"I cannot be this prince," Jon said. "I do not have the sword."

"Not yet. It is out there, somewhere. Stannis was not the prince, his sword was never Lightbringer."

Bran now understood it all. And maybe she was right. "Jon…it could be you," he said, his voice rising in excitement. "You fit the old story. You have Targaryen blood, you…"

"No!" Jon said…too late.

Bran and Jon both felt the heat rising in the room, heat coming from her, as she stood, and Jon did as well. She stared at him, her eyes glowing. "You have the blood of the dragons? How is this possible?"

Jon said nothing.

"We must tell her, Jon! She might know what we have to do. To stop them. Please!"

Jon sighed, heavily, as if all his burdens were suddenly dropping away. When he spoke his voice was soft. "My father was never Eddard Stark," he began. "It was Rhaegar Targaryen. My mother was Lord Stark's sister, Lyanna. That is why he took me in and said I was his."

"How do you know this?" she asked, breathless. "Did Lord Stark tell you?"

"No," Bran said. "I took Jon with me, into my visions, to see his birth many years ago, as the Three Eyed Raven once took me."

She sat and so did Jon. "Tell me it all." When they were done she nodded. "Then it is possible. Jon is Azor Ahai reborn."

"I do not have Lightbringer," Jon said. "I thought Longclaw might be it, but I do not know its history."

Her eyes swung to Bran. "You will know. Your sword, Jon Snow. Let him touch it."

"It does not work that way," Bran insisted. "I must touch a weirwood to have the visions."

"Always your visions came this way?" she asked.

"Yes," he said but then he felt it was wrong. "I…no, I have had other visions. In Winterfell, after I got hurt, and when we journeyed beyond the Wall…and when Meera and I fled from the cave, I saw many things. I can't remember most of it."

"This old man, the greenseer, the one you call the Three Eyed Raven," Melisandre said. "He trained you?"

"Yes."

"Did he say your training was complete? That there was no more you could learn?"

"No…he said it was not and that I was not ready."

"Then maybe you have powers you do not know you have. We can try. Your sword, Jon Snow."

He stood and took Longclaw from its scabbard and handed it to Bran, hilt first. "The blade you must touch," she said. "The hilt may have changed but the blade never did."

Bran lay the sword across his lap, and used his arms to sit up higher as Jon helped him adjust his pillows. He looked at Jon. "I may see things…things that will give us answers…answers we may not want to know."

"So be it," Jon said. "We must know."

Bran reached out, touched the blade with both hands, closed his eyes and felt himself drifting…into the past.

A city, on many hills, beautiful stone buildings, flowing rivers, waterfalls…inside a building…a forge…hot steel being pounded by men with hammers, shaping the blade…Valyria of old, men with the secrets of steel. The sword is ready and a hilt is fitted, in the shape of a red dragon's head.

Now the sword is in a scabbard on a man's hip, as he travels on a ship across an ocean. The man is tall and has silver hair and purple eyes…a Targaryen maybe, but maybe not. Bran knows not the names of other Valyrian families. He is the only one of his kind on the deck, the others burly, bearded men, of Westeros. A port they enter, the buildings brown colored, a hot sun beams down, but Bran does not know the city. The Valyarian man is walking at night with two bearded companions. They are drunk, words are said that Bran does not understand…a fight! The Valyarian man is down, bloody…dead…his sword is taken from his hip.

Now the years flash by quickly…the sword is in many different hands, all of them bearded men, who pass it on. Sometimes old men give it to young men, sometimes young men take it from old men's dead bodies as they lay with hands folded on their chests. Then a few times the owner falls in battle, and other hands pick up the bloody sword. Sigils he sees, always of bears.

Then…a scene. Time slows…an old man with a younger man, but who is not so young, maybe middle aged. They look the same, father and son maybe, Bran thinks. They stand in a room, the light coming from a fire in a hearth, from candles on a table. Deer heads line the walls, tapestries as well, of hunting scenes, of winter, of water and ships.

"Why?" the old man asks, his voice strong and gruff.

"For her," the younger one says. "I needed coin, to make her happy."

"There are other ways to make coin…other wives you could have had as well."

"Aye." The word is said with heavy regret.

"Now Ned Stark wants justice. I cannot deny him…yet you are my only son."

"I will go, to the south."

"Where? Robert will hunt you down if Stark asks."

"To the east then. They are always in need of swords there."

"You were my heir, to be a great lord someday. Now you will be a sellsword?"

"If I must. Forgive me, Father."

The old man shakes his head. "I cannot."

Silence. "What will you do?" the son finally asks.

"I cannot be lord of Bear Island if I let you go. But I cannot put you in chains, nor watch you die. I will renounce my titles and lands, give them to my sister…and I shall join the Night's Watch. When you go, take your wife with you. If she stays, I will kill her this very day."

"Aye. I am sorry. I love her too much." More silence, the father not even looking at him. The son unbuckles his sword belt and puts Longclaw on the table. "Give to someone who is more worthy than I am. Goodbye, Father."

A new scene, Jon…and the old man, who Bran now knows is Lord Commander Mormont. He hands Jon the sword, now with a new pommel, of a direwolf. No words are said and then Bran sees Jon in battle, so many battles…almost killing a beautiful girl with red hair, killing a man in black, killing wildlings outside a stone tower, a tower Bran knows, killing more wildings in Castle Black, killing wights, killing a White Walker, shattering it, turning it to ice and snow crystals.

And now a battlefield…a young boy running…Rickon…RUN! Bran shouts, but the arrows catch his brother and he dies before Jon can reach him.

Then chaos, blood, screams, mud, piles of bodies. Jon is smothering, and Bran feels like he is dying as well. Jon climbs out and sucks in air and then he sees the hated enemy, runs him down, hits him, over and over and over, but nothing will ever lessen the pain in his heart.

Bran let go of the blade and came back to the present. He looked at Jon, eyes wide. "Such…pain."

Jon looked uncomfortable. "What did you see?"

"Everything…the history of the sword."

"Everything," Jon said heavily. "Aye."

"Is it Lightbringer?" the red woman asked.

"It is not Lightbringer," he said. "Made in Valyria, stolen from a Valyrian man, he was murdered…somewhere in Westeros…maybe in Dorne…but he was not killed by Dornishmen I don't think. Northerners they looked like. Maybe a Mormont ancestor. Then kept by the Mormonts for many years…till it came to Jon."

Melisandre sighed and sat back. "A dead end. The sword Lightbringer is still out there."

"So it seems," said Jon as he took Longclaw back.

"Still…it does not mean you are not the prince."

Jon was about to argue with her, Bran could tell, when a knock came to the door.

It was Edd. "Raven, from Winterfell. A message for Lord Royce…he did not take it well."

"What news?"

"Your sister has arrested Baelish and will hold him for trial for murdering your aunt."

"Gods," Jon said. He called for the guards who had been waiting outside. "Take Lady Melisandre back to her room."

"Wait," she said. She looked at Bran. "The sentence, my lord?"

"I…I must think on this."

She stared at him, and he felt unnerved by that look. Finally she nodded. "As you command, my lord," she said and then she was gone.

Meera came back after they left. She looked worried. "I'd better go find out what is happening."

Again he was alone…as he was often, in his mind, in his body that was more of a prison than a vessel sustaining his life. He needed help, always, just to survive day to day. He needed…her…for more than just that. Maybe she felt the same. She had smiled and had taken his hand after all. Or maybe he had misunderstood. Maybe no one would ever love him, for how could he give her what she needed? He was not very old, but old enough to know that men and women married for many reasons, love being just one. A family she would want, children, and his broken body could not give her that. Nothing he felt below his waist, and even the most basic things required an enormous effort, an effort that tired him and her most days. He would never be a father…but he could still fly.

He let his mind drift, and outside he found what he wanted…a raven, in the rookery, the only one that never left, the one for King's Landing. It was bored sitting in the rookery, and it gladly let him take her mind and body and fly away once he saw the man in charge was not there. Now again its body and mind he entered…and then he made it fly…made himself fly.

It was near nightfall, the sky growing dark, a smell of snow on the air. Out he went, soaring across the castle, down over the main courtyard, and there was Melisandre being led to her room, her prison cell. And there was Meera, striding towards where many men were gathered, Vale men, men of the North, and by their sigils Maester Luwin had once drilled into him he knew who they were. Lords Royce, Manderly, and Glover, Lady Mormont, with Edd, Tormund, and Jon, all talking. He alit on the railing of the high walkway nearby the armory and listened as they talked, their breath coming in clouds in the cold air.

"She has done right," Lord Glover was saying. "If all she writes is true, he must die."

"Agreed," said Lord Manderly. "Though she should have said this long ago, when Lady Arryn died."

"She was frightened," Jon told them. "She told me she feared what Baelish would do to her."

"Lord Baelish best fear what I will do," Lord Royce said in a threatening growl. "Your Grace, I must be there. If she tries him without a high lord of the Vale there, Lord Arryn will never understand all this."

"Aye," said Jon. "Bran is going in the morning. I suggest you go with him, and take what men and supplies you need for an escort. I will write to Sansa and tell her to wait until you arrive to try Baelish."

"Very good, Your Grace," Lord Royce said. As he spoke the first snow flakes fell.

"More snow," Lady Mormont said as they all looked up. "Once I loved it. Now I fear what it will bring."

And then as if her words were an omen came the blast of a horn, from high up on the Wall.

"What does it mean?" Lord Manderly asked.

"One blast for rangers returning," said Edd, a worried look in his eyes. "But I sent no rangers out."

"Nor I any of my people," Tormund added.

Then came a second blast.

Jon looked at Tormund. "Two blasts for the free folk," Jon said.

"But we are all here, on this side of the Wall," Tormund told him…and then came the third blast.

"White Walkers," said Edd with a groan.

"TO ARMS!" Jon shouted and all over men and woman began to move. "Edd, find out what is happening. If the Wall begins to crack, get your men off the Wall, quick. Run west and east on top if they must."

"Aye," Edd said and he started running for the winch lift.

Jon looked at the lords and lady. "You know where to put your people. Good luck."

"And you, my King," said Lady Mormont.

They moved off and Jon looked to Tormund. "Let us get the red women."

"Now we will see how true or false her words are," Tormund growled."

Jon saw Meera. "Get Bran ready. I am sending you now. A sled I will have prepared."

"Yes," she said and she ran back to the tower where he was.

Bran took off, flying in tight circles, higher and higher, and soon he was high enough to fly over the Wall. A strong wind was blowing from the north. He felt the bird resisting, but Ban held tight to its mind and body and was soon flying on spread wings on the north side of the Wall.

The snow came down thicker and darkness descended. As Bran flew lower he felt a sudden chill…and then freezing cold, entering the raven's body, making it shake and shudder, making him want to cry, to flee the bird, but he had to see…and then he was falling, unable to move his wings, falling to the snowy ground.

A last vision he saw through the raven's eyes before it died. Long lines of wights standing by the forest's edge, with at least six White Walkers in front of them…and the Night King. The being of ice and snow was leaning forward, his hand touching the ground, and from his hand came a shock of power, and it made the snow and ground crack open. A long line of cracking snow and ground spread out from his hand, directly towards the Wall…and then the crack began to go up the Wall.

Long slabs of ice began to calve off the Wall, falling down…and then with a sudden rush and roar the whole section above the blocked gate began to fall.

"BRAN!" came Meera's shout.

He opened his eyes. "We must go!" she was shouting as a strong man of the North wearing the Winterfell sigil on his surcoat began to pick him up.

"It is too late," said Bran.

"What is it, my lord?" the Winterfell man asked.

"The Wall…"

"Yes?" Meera asked but then her eyes went wide and they heard it…the screams and shouts…and the noise, as tons of ice and rock came down…and Bran feared the Wall and Castle Black would soon be no more.


	9. Chapter 9

**Game of Thrones Season 7 Chapter 9**

 **Castle Black – Jon**

The first crack was a sound Jon Snow had heard before, when he had climbed the Wall with Tormund and Ygritte…the sound of ice breaking, calving off the Wall. As he and Tormund reached the door of the room where Melisandre was put they both heard it and looked up at the Wall in the growing darkness and snow. A large slab of ice fell and crashed into the ground just to the left of the rising lift cage.

"Gods," Jon said. "They're breaking the Wall."

"Just ice falling," said Tormund. "We've seen it before."

The words were not even out of his mouth before there was another crack, louder this time, and as many men looked up more ice and snow fell. Then came a much louder crack and a large chunk fell and slammed into the switchback stairway and cut it in half, a pile of ice and rock and timber falling to the castle, slamming into part of the stables, and crushing them.

"THE WALL IS FALLING!" someone shouted and Jon waited no more. He rushed into the room and Melisandre was already standing, waiting for him.

"It has begun," she said.

"Aye. We must go!"

"No, you must go. I must stay."

"Not here, woman!" Tormund shouted as he grabbed her arm. "You'll soon be crushed!"

They pulled her out of the room and down the outside stairs and across the main courtyard, with Ghost following them. As Jon took his bearings he saw all was chaos. The Wall was indeed collapsing, falling down in great slabs of ice and rock, crushing all underneath.

"What do we do?" a man of the Watch shouted as he came up to him.

"Get everyone out of here!" Jon yelled back. "Everyone get away from the Wall!"

They ran, everyone that could, Ghost as well, south and out the gates and down the Kingsroad and into the main tent camps where much of the army was gathered. Behind them some were too slow, or tried to save someone or something, but in the end saved not even themselves as ice and rock fell in a great thundering roar down on the castle, crushing much of it and anyone in the way underneath. Jon looked up and saw the winch cage was separating from Wall and then it disappeared under an avalanche of falling debris. He had just sent Edd up in the cage and now feared his friend was dead.

But he had one more person to worry about. "Bran," Jon said as Tormund dragged Melisandre out the gates.

"JON!" Meera shouted and there they were, coming towards him, a large soldier of Winterfell carrying Bran in his arms, all three running. Just as they reached Jon a rock fell and bounced off the snow and struck the soldier from behind, hitting his head and knocking him to the ground with Bran in his arms. Bran slid across the snow right at Jon's feet. He bent and picked up him as Meera bent to the still body of the soldier.

"He's dead! Come on!" Jon shouted to her, struggling with the weight of Bran. He did not know if the soldier was dead or not but he soon would be for they had no time to drag him away. As they ran out the gates behind them ice and rock was falling everywhere, the noise deafening, so loud he could not hear what Bran was trying to tell him. Finally he could make out words…Night King…wights…an army, and Bran as a bird had seen it all happening on the other side of the Wall.

They reached the army camp and Jon was glad to see things were getting organized here. Lines were forming, ranks of soldiers, the infantry of the free folk and the North in the center, with the knights of the Vale on their horses forming up on the wings. In the center he also saw the Hound and Lord Beric, with Thoros and the men who had come with them. Barrels of oil were prepared, the fire arrows already made and readied. A ditch had been dug days ago and a thick barrier of sharpened wooden stakes was already laid out as well with just a few gaps for people to pass through. As the last of those who had survived came into the lines men rushed out with more wooden stakes to close the gaps.

Jon found the leaders in the center, behind the lines, with Tormund and Melisandre. He rushed past them with Bran still in his arms and Meera and Ghost at his side. To the supply lines he went and he found what he wanted, a sleigh, and its team of horses. He shouted to the driver.

"Take them to Winterfell!" he commanded as he placed Bran in the sleigh.

The man balked. "Winterfell, my King? I need supplies, food, hay for the horses."

"Get what you need. Take another sleigh if necessary. But make sure these two get to Winterfell. Send word as well that the Wall has fallen and the wights are attacking."

"Aye, my King," the man said and he raced off to get what he needed.

"Jon…I must stay," Bran said. "I can find another bird, I can see what they are doing…I can help."

Jon shook his head. "No…I cannot fight this battle and worry on you as well. I think we will need you and your abilities for more before this is done. The weirwood at Winterfell, Bran. Go, touch it, and find Lightbringer."

"Do you now really believe you are the prince?"

"I don't know. But if I am I will need the sword before this is over…I will need it for us to have a chance of victory."

Bran nodded. "I will find it…be safe."

"Aye, you as well." Then he looked at Ghost and knew what he had to do. "Ghost, go with Bran. Keep him safe."

Ghost stared at him, as if wounded by this order, and Jon felt a twinge of guilt. "Boy, I cannot lose you now, not after all we've been through. Go with Bran and Meera. Keep them safe."

Ghost hopped up into the sleigh and sat beside Bran, looking away from Jon, as if he was mad. Again Jon felt guilty but he knew it was the right thing to do. Jon helped Meera up into the sleigh. "I must go be with the army…may the gods protect you all."

"And you," Meera said. Jon gave them one last reassuring look and he ran back to the front lines.

The snow was coming down thicker now, and a wind was blowing from the north, into their faces. In front of them the remains of the castle was covered in ice and snow and rock. Through the gloom Jon could make out a building here and there still standing but most were gone. His home for years now, and in a few brief moments it was no more. He asked if any of the Night's Watch men made it and was heartbroken to learn only nine men had escaped the destruction. Many more were on the Wall, and Jon prayed they managed to run clear of the area that had fallen.

For not all of the Wall had collapsed. Looking east and west he could see the shadowy mass of the Wall still standing. But where Castle Black once was there was a gap, a few hundred yards wide…and now they saw signs of the enemy coming through the gap.

Black figures began to run out of the snow, towards the lines, trying to leap the ditch and stakes, or find a way to wriggle through. Fire arrows flew and wights caught fire and screeched as they burned. Soon the small attacks grew into large ones and then it was one surging mass of wights trying to break through the barriers. Oil barrels were flung over the barriers and set on fire, and dozens of wights were burned, but more always filled the ranks until it was like at Hardhome, one massive pile of the dead, surging forward, and Jon feared nothing would stop them. Few men had died yet but just as Jon had that thought a great cold seemed to roll towards them and over the barrier and fill all their hearts with fear and doubt.

And then in the flames he saw behind the enemy ranks, and there was the Night King, standing on a pile of ruined masonry and blocks of ice, his long sword made of ice in his hand, pointing it forward, and from behind him came hundreds more wights, crawling over the rubble and running towards the wooden barrier.

Lord Manderly came up to him. "The men are freezing!" he shouted. "Many are collapsing!"

Reports from the rest said the same, all except for the free folk, who took the cold better than most. And then horses began to fall and die from the freezing cold, and snow began to blow in all their faces, making many cry out in pain.

"If you have any power to end this and destroy them now is the time to use it!" he shouted to Melisandre, who had stood still all this time watching all, her eyes alight with an unnatural glow, as if she was enjoying the whole spectacle.

"My power I must save for the right moment," she told him over the blowing wind and snow. "If I use it too soon, it will be wasted."

And then horns blew on both ends of the line, and the Vale men were charging forward, long lines of horses moving past the stake barrier's flanks and out into the open to attack the wights. At first they seemed to be winning, though it was hard to tell in the growing darkness and blowing snow. Jon was getting ready to tell the rest of the army to surge forward but some instinct told him to hold back, for he could not see clearly what was happening out in front. Screams they heard, and horses galloping, and then a barrel of oil burst and lit the scene, and Jon saw all was not as he hoped. Many horses were riderless, and others were buried under a pile of wights, climbing over each other to get at the riders. And there he saw a rider cut the arm of a wight, but the wight did not care, for it was already dead, and it leaped on the back of the man's horse and dragged him off.

"We must go to their support!" Lord Glover shouted to him.

"We'll be massacred as well," Lord Manderly said. "Sound the retreat, damnit!"

There was no need. The surviving Vale men and their horses began to leap over the barrier, fleeing the battle…and then one man's horse slipped and fell, its body slamming into the stakes, breaking them and opening a gap in the lines.

Now was the time for steel. Jon ripped out Longclaw from its scabbard and yelled at the top of his lungs. "WITH ME!" and then he raced towards the gap, with many following him.

The wights were already there, through and fighting the free folk and men of the North, and all was chaos. Blood surged through Jon's body and brain and as the battle fever engulfed him once more. Longclaw bit deep into wights, cutting off heads, and arms, and legs, knocking down wights for men behind him to burn them. He was soon fighting side by side with the Hound and Beric Dondarrion, with Thoros nearby, his sword aflame, burning wights with every thrust.

"Look out!" the Hound shouted and Jon ducked just in time as a wight sword swung past him. The Hound's great sword cut the thing in two and another man put fire to the dismembered body. More fire was brought forward, and after a long ten minutes struggle the gap was closed, with dozens of wights dead, and many men of the North as well.

Now came a lull in the battle as the wights seemed to retreat behind a curtain of snow and gloom. But there was no lull from the cold, and more men began to fall and not get up, and horses were dropping as well.

"They'll be back," said Dondarrion.

"The cold will kill us sooner than they will," said Thoros. "We need fires, many fires."

"Fuck the fires," the Hound cursed. "I'd rather freeze to death. You keep that bloody flaming sword away from me next time."

Tormund loomed up out the darkness and snow. "Jon Snow, we must flee while we can. Even my people are crying from this cold. It's an unnatural thing."

Lord Glover was by his side as well and he disagreed. "If we flee we will be run down like dogs on the road south."

"Aye," said Lord Manderly. "Better to die here with steel in our hands."

Lady Mormont was there, with four of her biggest men as escort. "If we die here, we will not stay dead," she said. "We will rise as wights moments later."

"Aye," Jon told them. "And then who will defend the North?"

"No one," said the Hound. "Maybe best if we go while we can."

Just then a rider from the Vale came up and climbed off his horse. "Your Grace," he said. "I am afraid I must report Lord Royce is dead."

"Gods," Jon said. "How many are left?"

"Less than half," he said, his voice choking. "More are dying from the cold. What can we do against such power?"

Jon knew it was time. He looked at Melisandre who had stood there listening the whole time. "Can you do it?"

"I can," she said.

"It will mean…"

"Yes. All my life has led me to this moment, Jon Snow. To fight one's enemies, and to die in battle is glorious, do not your people believe?"

"I once thought so as well…but now…there is no glory in war. Only death."

"Then let my death be remembered at least," she replied. "And let it wash away all that came before it. Promise me this."

"Aye." He turned to his commanders. "It is time. Send the supply wagons first with a strong escort. Lord Beric, your men as well, escort the supplies."

"Aye, my King. My men to me!" he shouted and they began to move off into the camp.

Jon continued to give orders as they did so. "Then the infantry. The cavalry goes last and forms the rearguard."

They rushed to give his orders, but Jon stopped Tormund. "Come back when you have told them."

"Aye," the big man said as he raced off.

"I must get higher," Melisandre said. "I must see them all."

Jon found two crates and put them on top of each other and then helped her up top of them. "Now, Jon Snow, get on your horse, and be ready to go."

His horse was most likely dead, buried in the castle stables under the ice and snow…along with Edd and most of the rest of his friends. But there were plenty of horses about, and he found one and climbed on.

Tormund soon came back. "We are ready. The wagons and sleighs are already heading south. Dondarrion and more are escorting them."

"Good. Find a horse, and stay by my side."

He soon found one, and just in time, for the wights began to come again. The snow parted again for a few moments and then Jon shouted at the top of his lungs. "FALL BACK!"

All along the lines the order went, and men began to step back from the barrier, slowly, backwards, without disorder. And then the infantry all turned to the left and began to move off at a trot and away from the battlefield. The archers let loose one more volley of fire arrows but many fell short, the wind and snow diminishing their power. They also then began to retreat.

The black line of wights reached the barrier and began to climb over it and rip it out of the ground. Behind them Jon saw at least five White Walkers on the ground including the Night King. For one mad moment he thought to race his horse forward and face the Night King in single combat, but then the thought was gone as a wall of fire filled the world in front of him as the entire wooden barrier caught fire and all the wights on it and around it became flaming torches.

He had not heard the chanting from Melisandre up to now, but as the fire rose and wights died in the hundreds the wind abated and her voice, strong and melodious, came to his ears, a foreign tongue, but it sounded as if it were a mother's voice, lulling him to sleep, a voice he had never heard except in Bran's visions.

"Fuck!" Tormund shouted and Jon looked away from the fire towards him and then past him and saw what he saw.

Melisandre was no more…in her place on the crates stood an old woman in red, with wispy grey hair, and from her wrinkled hands came fire, surging forward, and spreading out, and reaching the wight ranks and decimating them. Now thousands were destroyed, shattered and blowing in the wind as ash…and the flames surged over the White Walkers and for one brief moment Jon thought they would be destroyed as well…but then he saw they still lived.

In that moment on the far side he locked eyes with the Night King and for a brief moment he thought he saw fear, as if the thing had a human soul and could know fear…but it was only for a moment.

"Go," came a weak voice, and it was her, Melisandre, and she had fallen from the crates and was on the ground. Jon leaped from his horse and came to her side. Very old and white haired she was now. Jon helped her sit up.

"Go," she said again, her voice hoarse.

"What happened to you?"

"This is who I really am, Jon Snow," she managed to gasp. "The rest was all glamour. This is the true me."

"Why hide your true self?"

"A young woman of beauty can go far in this world, as I have proven. A wrinkled old woman cannot, even if she has immense power."

"Here they come again!" Tormund shouted.

"Help me stand," she said and Jon did so. "Go…and find the sword…save the world, Jon Snow, my prince…this is your destiny."

"Thank you for my life."

"I did it for all the people of Westeros, not just you. Now go."

"JON!" Tormund shouted and now he saw the danger, as long lines of wights were moving towards them. The barrier was gone now and many wights were still standing. He leaped for his horse and they rode away, through the deserted camp, and down the Kingsroad. Jon took one look back and saw her one last time, or least what she became. A great pillar of fire was just beyond the camp, reaching up to the snowy clouds, the pillar centered where she had been standing, and in a flash the pillar seemed to burst out into a great ball of flame in all directions, covering hundreds of yards, and Jon now knew the red woman was truly dead or would soon be. She and her lord had saved them, as she said they would. But what would save them now?

* * *

 **Deep Den – Cersei**

There were just four of them in the sleigh, her and three of her guards, three of the six Qyburn had selected for her in the days after Tommen's death, Ser Marcus Crakehall, Ser Willard Westerly, and Ser Holsten Lefford. These three and the other three were unmarried knights of the Westerlands, all loyal to her house, and all swore to die to protect her. She did not want the men who had guarded Robert, Joffrey, and Tommen. They had all failed to save their King. Even Jaime had failed, and had been stripped of his golden armor, humiliated in front of the court, and sent off to the Riverlands to command the army. Of course he and she wanted Robert to die…but not Joffrey…not Tommen. She knew the Kingsguard could not have saved either, for Joffrey had been poisoned and Tommen took his own life. Still, she cleaned house, retried those still left, despite their protests, and gave the golden armor to six men who would be bound to her and her alone. Clegane, of course, would not be retired, for no one was more feared in all the realm.

Ser Marcus held the reins in his hands, with Cersei sitting between the other two in the back of the sleigh. Leaving had been a tough choice, but Qyburn's words had made sense.

"We are vulnerable out here, Your Grace," he had said, when he came to her with his plan. "The prisoners have talked, and told your brother that they are waiting for Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons before attacking us."

"Where is she now?"

"Uncertain, but it can't be long before she is on mainland Westeros. If we are caught out here…I fear the worst."

She knew what was unsaid. The snows had been falling for days and their march had slowed to a crawl, barely making ten miles a day. It would take weeks to reach Casterly Rock at this rate. Qyburn had found a sleigh and horses to pull it, and said she should go.

"What about you?" she had asked.

"I will stay with the army, and ensure it does not go…astray."

"Jaime wants to kill you."

"Ser Gregor and three knights will remain with me. I will be safe, rest assured."

"Do not harm Jaime, even if he does something rash. This is not for debate."

"Of course, Your Grace. I am certain he has come to his senses, and knows what we did was right. With our enemies dealing with the destruction they will be delayed. And with winter on us, we have left them little shelter in the capital."

She sighed. "Very well. I will go."

Now, an hour later they had just crested a hill when the sky seemed to light up. She turned around and saw the horizon behind them on fire.

"Stop!" she commanded and soon the sleigh was still. She climbed out as did her guards.

"What is it, Your Grace?" Ser Willard asked. He was the tallest of the three.

"Fire," she said. "Dragon fire….Jaime." The last word was almost a gasp.

"We must press on, Your Grace," Ser Marcus Crakehall said. He was a cousin to the Strongboar, who led their western armies, and like him was built like an aurochs, all muscle and strength. She had named him Lord Commander, and now he was doing as he must, protecting her. "We cannot return."

"I know." She felt weary as she climbed back in the sleigh, and on through the night they rode.

Late the next afternoon they finally reached Deep Den, cold and hungry, after traveling through a narrow mountain pass for the last few hours. The fort was large and stood to the left side of the Goldroad, its defenders easily able to command the road and the mountain pass, the only way through the mountains. The white badger on a green and brown field of House Lydden flew above the fort, a good sign that all was well here. The drawbridge over the moat was lowered and they rode into the castle's main court yard.

Lord Lewys Lydden was walking into the courtyard as she arrived. He was older than her, in his early fifties maybe, tall and clean shaven, his black hair thinning and receding slightly. He had a cane and walked with a limp, and later she learned it was from a wound he had received fighting with her father's army during the earlier battles around Riverrun.

"Your Grace," he said as he dipped his head. "We did not expect you so soon…and alone."

"Things have changed, Lord Lewys. Our army is snowbound almost forty miles from here. We had only the one sleigh and my commanders insisted I be brought to safety. I now fear they were attacked in the night by dragons."

"Gods," he said. "What can we do?"

"I would ask you send out a strong patrol to discover what happened to them…especially my brother."

"Of course. At once. You must be tired." He shouted for people and they arrived, and took Cersei and her men indoors, to the warmth of a great hall, where good food and drink were provided. Lord Lewys soon joined them, and told her a patrol of one hundred men he had sent east on the Goldroad.

Then he looked troubled. "Your Grace, I am afraid there has been news from the capital…from a Dornish woman. A bird arrived two days ago before the heavy snows began."

"Show me."

"It is not pleasant, Your Grace."

She held out her hand and with reluctance he handed over a small rolled up scroll and Cersei read.

 _The Lannister bitch has fled the Iron Throne. Before she left she ordered the city destroyed. Now tens of thousands are dead, the capital in ruins. Her forces flee west, to her homelands. She abandoned her Frey allies, and now they are all dead or in chains. The new Queen Daenerys Targaryen will soon arrive. She demands all pay homage to her and bend the knee. Any who assist the Lannisters will be dealt with harshly. Any who arrest the Lannister whore and her brother and the vile man named Qyburn will be fully rewarded._

The letter was signed 'Ellaria Sand of Dorne'.

"I expect she sent this to every house she had a bird for," Lord Lewys said as Cersei handed the letter to Ser Marcus.

"I expect so," said Cersei, not showing emotion as if it bothered her not at all. It seemed not all of the Red Keep had been destroyed, not the rookery was now certain.

"Is it all true, Your Grace?" Lord Lewys asked.

"If you mean about the city, yes," Cersei said, not ashamed at all of her actions. "A military tactic, to delay them and give them no shelter during the winter."

Lord Lewys looked concerned. "But…the people…"

"People who humiliated our Queen, my lord," Ser Marcus said.

"People who would support our enemies," Cersei added.

"Of course, Your Grace. I meant no offence. I…I will see to arranging quarters for you and your men."

They gave her a set of three rooms, lavishly furnished for a borderland fort, and she knew such rooms were often kept in castles for visiting persons of high birth and rank. After her bath she worried on Jaime again, and asked if there was any word but of course it was too soon. She went to bed as night came and she was happy to be in a warm soft bed again.

The snow had ended by morning, but the roads were blocked east and west, and Lord Lewys told her it would be impossible to move on towards Casterly Rock. Maybe in a day or two, he said, though he seemed not hopeful. All his life he had lived here, when not with her father's armies, and he told her the snows could block the passes for many days if heavy enough.

There was more news in the morning as she and her men sat to break their fast in the great hall. "My sister Jeyne is married to Stevron Frey," Lord Lewys told her. "A bird from her also arrived. She has also received news from the Dornish woman…telling her Stevron is dead with most of his men. A battle south of the Blackwater."

"How unfortunate," Cersei said, not really caring if the world was rid of a few more Freys.

"Yes…my sister is grieving. As are many at the Twins."

Ser Marcus grunted. "The Freys have no honor. Perhaps the realm is better off without them."

Lord Lewys' face grew dark. "If you are referring to the Red Wedding, ser, the realm blames Lord Tywin as much as Walder Frey and his brood."

"Of course they blame my father," Cersei said. "But in truth it was his plan. He had to do what needed doing to end the war and kill Robb Stark."

"Yes," said Lord Lewys. "But now…Your Grace, forgive me…but the whole realm is against us. I would like to know what your plan is for dealing with this…situation."

"The plan is to wait out the storm, my lord," she said, for that was all they could do. "We still have strong armies, good stocks of food, and many castles and forts. Winter is here, and they will suffer if they try to lay siege to our lands."

"But…they have dragons."

"Dragons can be killed, my lord," Cersei retorted. "Recall your history. One of Aegon's sisters and her dragon died in Dome. Many more died during the Dance of the Dragons." That much she remembered if not all the details. Tyrion would know more, for the little monster always had his ugly nose in a book.

"Yes, Your Grace. I do recall. A civil war, that tore the realm apart for years."

"We must fight on, my lord. There is no choice other than death. I do have your support, do I not?"

"Of course, Your Grace. My family is always faithful."

"Good."

Just then a man approached, snow covered, and breathless. "Beg pardons, my lord, Your Grace. I have been sent back by the patrol leader to report."

"What news?" Lord Lewys asked.

"The patrol could get no father than about seven miles before the snows got too deep, my lord. No one is going anywhere on that road till the snows melt."

"Very well," said Lord Lewys. "Get some food and rest. I will send more men to tell the rest to return."

"No," Cersei said and Lord Lewys stopped halfway out of his seat. "They will press on until they make contact with the army. Take my sleigh if you must, but we need to know what happened."

Lord Lewys dipped his head. "At once, Your Grace."

Two days later came the news. The patrols had finally reached the villages where Cersei had last stopped…and the Lannister army was gone, with all signs they had marched east.

When Lord Lewys brought this news to her rooms she was stunned. "I…I don't understand."

"They never pressed on west," he said. "They turned around and marched back towards King's Landing by the looks of things. Under the snow my men found many dead by the sides of the road and in the destroyed villages. Almost all burnt by intense fire…dragon fire it seems. They also found your three knights, their golden armor blackened and melted, all three dead. And another corpse was found burnt in a destroyed building. A large man in thick black plate armor, but he was headless. By his size, my men guessed it was Gregor Clegane."

Cersei had to sit down, shocked by this news. "What of Qyburn and Jaime?"

"There is no news of either I am afraid, Your Grace. At least we did not find any bodies that resembled them…though many are too burnt to know for certain."

"Jaime has only one hand."

"Then no, they did not find him or they would have mentioned that for certain."

Nothing was certain. They could have overlooked his body in the snow or missed the missing hand if the body was badly burnt. He had said they were through, but she knew they would never be through, not until one or the other was dead. They had come into the world together and would leave it together. She had always sensed him, a connection they had, and now she knew he had to be still alive…somewhere.

Three days later and no more snows had come, but also no news of Jaime or the army. Cersei decided it was time to push on west, to Casterly Rock. She was getting ready to leave her rooms, packing the few clothes she had in a small bag. The night before Lord Lewys said the road west seemed open enough for her sleigh to make it through the mountain passes. If she wanted a strong escort she would have to wait for the roads to get better for no more sleighs did they have. She could not wait for there was no telling what would happen if she lingered any longer.

She was about to leave when the door suddenly opened. It was Ser Marcus, and he had his sword drawn.

"Your Grace, we must go, now! Lord Lewys has ordered you be arrested!"

"What? How absurd. Let me speak to him."

She moved toward the door but Ser Marcus blocked her. "A bird arrived from King's Landing…from Lord Jaime, Lord Lewys said. He commanded Lord Lewys to arrest you…and send you to the capital. Lord Lewys asked us to lay down our arms. We must go!"

Cersei was too stunned to speak. "Jaime…he…no, that's impossible."

As she spoke from outside there came the sound of steel on steel, and then a scream. Then the door opened and men poured into the room, men of the fort, Lord Lewys' men. Cersei was cornered by her bed, with no way around the fighting men. Ser Marcus fought them, and lived up to his family's reputation for toughness. He slew three men, and wounded two more, before a crossbow bolt fired from the doorway penetrated his armor near his heart. He fell to his knees and then a spear was shove through his throat and he died choking on his own blood. Cersei was too shocked to speak or scream.

Cersei finally found her nerve and glared at them. "How dare you attack my men! I am your Queen!" They made no reply as more men of the fort came into the room. Two stood close to her as the rest began to drag the wounded and dead away, the blood making the floor slick.

The two men near her stepped aside as Lord Lewys entered, trying to step around the pools of blood. "You are not our Queen anymore, it seems," he said, his eyes full of sorrow. "Lord Jaime has bent the knee…my lady…to Queen Daenerys Targaryen."

"Impossible," Cersei said, a bare whisper, not believing what was happening. "He killed her father…how could she let him bend the knee?"

"I know not the details. But Lord Jaime ordered your arrest." He had a raven scroll in his hand and he passed it to her. As she read she got steaming mad.

 _Lord Lewys Lydden, as your lord paramount I command you to place my sister Cersei Lannister under arrest if she still remains at Deep Den. I have bent the knee to Queen Daenerys Targaryen, and now our army will serve as allies to her forces as they go north to face the new threat from the White Walkers. You are commanded to bring all forces available to the capital region as soon as the weather permits. Bring my sister as well, to face trial for her crimes against the people of Westeros. Lord Jaime Lannister._

The writing was clear and legible but the signature at the bottom was shaky, as if a small child first learning his letters had written it…or as if a man who lost his good hand was learning with the other _._

"It's all lies," she said and then her voice began to rise. "Yes! Jaime would never write this. You must see it is all lies! You have been duped, all of you!"

"That is your family seal in the wax," Lord Lewys said.

"Yes. But we must have left a seal behind in the capital. Of course, she found it and is now using it for this plot."

"Is that not your brother's handwriting? His signature at the bottom?"

"No! Not at all. Jaime can't write…he lost his good hand and has not learned how to write with the left yet."

"Or he is still learning how."

"Fools!" she shouted at him and his men. "You have all been tricked. Yes, a plot, by that little girl, to bring me down. You have killed a good man for no reason. Where are the other two?"

"Dead," Lord Lewys said. "And so are more of my men. I asked them to surrender, to lay down their arms, but they refused. My lady…"

"Your Grace!" she yelled at him.

He sighed. "My lady…I have no choice. It is your family seal. The signature is of a man who has trouble writing, as my maester says Lord Jaime would be. And if this is a plot, then where is the army? Why hasn't Lord Jaime pressed on to here with his men who survived the dragon attack? If he was still loyal to you he would have been here by now."

All he said made sense, and she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing more did she have to say. In shock, she dropped the letter to the bloody floor, and as they took her away all she could think of was that somehow, someway, Jaime had finally decided that their life together was truly over, and now he was with her enemies…his enemies. But how was that possible?

* * *

 **King's Landing – Daenerys**

She stood at the bottom of the steps leading up to the Iron Throne and stared at it. Dany had often wondered what it would be like to finally be here, but now that she was here nothing was as she had hoped. The room had no roof, and one wall was gone. All the windows were shattered and a cold wind blew through the room, scattering the snow on the floor in small clouds. It was night time, and the only light was from the moon above. The throne looked so cold and hard, a thousand swords melted together it was said, but now that she saw it, it was smaller than she thought it would be, and there could not even be two hundred swords there let alone a thousand.

This is where they found her, Varys and Ser Jorah, both scurrying to her side like worried parents whose child woke up in the middle of the night and went wandering.

"Your Grace," Varys began with a dip of his head. "Wandering the Red Keep at night without your guards is not something I would advise." He looked up where the roof should be but was not . "Especially with the state it is in."

"I was dreaming," she said. "About the Iron Throne."

"With you on it I trust, khalessi," Ser Jorah said.

"Yes."

"Well," said Varys. "Perhaps we should not let your dreams be the only place you sit on it. It is high time we had your coronation."

"I will not change my mind."

Varys sighed. "Your Grace, without a coronation, you are in truth not the Queen of Westeros."

"She is still Queen," Ser Jorah said in that strong tone he always took when defending her. "A coronation is just ceremony."

"A necessary ceremony," Varys retorted. "Many will doubt it if she is not crowned."

"What is there to doubt," Ser Jorah countered. "The title and rule is hers by right. She is here, and no other will oppose her now."

Varys still disagreed. "With Cersei Lannister still alive and on the run there will always be doubt. We must have your coronation, Your Grace."

"Not yet," Dany told him. "There will be no coronation until the realm is united and safe…from all enemies."

"One less soon, we hope," said Ser Jorah. In his hand she now saw he carried a letter.

She looked up from the letter to his face. "Have we had word from the Lannisters?"

"Aye, khalessi. Lord Randyll Tarly rode into the Dornish lines yesterday morning. He is a prisoner of the Lannisters. He has brought word that Lord Jaime Lannister seeks a parley with you. A rider from the Dornish has just arrived." Ser Jorah held up the letter and she took it but did not yet open it.

"Let us find a warm room with light," Varys suggested and she nodded after one more look at the empty throne.

Her quarters is where they went, a set of three rooms set high in the only tower that had survived the destruction, though its windows were gone, now covered over with wood to keep out the cold. Missandei was waiting, worried to death over her. "Khalessi, I am glad you are safe."

"Not to worry. No one here would harm me."

Varys sighed theatrically. "My Queen, that may be true, but still you must be cautious. Please, for the sake of mine and Missandei's nerves, please do not slip away from your guards again."

She smiled slightly. "I will try to remember that. Now, let us sit. I feel hungry and sense the dawn is almost upon us. Missandei, please send for breakfast."

Missandei dipped her head and left them as the three sat at a round table in her large solar. Dany took the letter and saw the golden wax seal with the Lannister lion sigil in it. "What did the rider say?" she asked Ser Jorah.

"Only what I told you. Tarly came into their lines, and delivered the letter and the message about a parley. I am sure your attack on their army a few nights ago is the reason for this. The Dornish also say that the snows to the west are heavier than those that fell here. Perhaps the Lannister army is snowbound and wounded."

"Then maybe we should destroyed them while we can," Dany said.

Ser Jorah raised his eyebrows. "We are not ready for a major battle, khalessi. And we agreed on no more night attacks. You said many crossbow bolts came flying up at you. If one had found its mark, all might have been lost. And even dragons are not immune from death. We may need them for more important tasks, in the North."

She knew he was right, for more than the reasons he stated. Even with her dragons, they were still weak. All the last few days men and arms and had been moving west, but still the chaos of the city occupied most of her forces, dealing with the wounded, the dead, and the lack of shelter and food for the survivors. There was also the problem that her army had not been prepared for winter, and had little in the way of winter clothing. She had hoped to rectify this in Tarth or elsewhere, but in the southern lands little winter clothing was kept and less was for sale. Now she had ordered whatever cloth could be salvaged from the city to be made into winter uniforms for her army, especially for the Unsullied and Dothraki, who had less than most and no experience of winter. The Dornish and Tyrells were better prepared, but the snows west had slowed them as well, and their armies were from the south, and did not do well in the snows either.

The North was on all their minds as well. The ravens and rookery had survived the destruction, thankfully. As soon as the army began landing Dany sent off messages to all in the realm, telling of her arrival and asking for support. It also seemed Ellaria had sent out some message as well, informing many of Dany's impeding arrival. Though Dany did not like this presumption, she said nothing to Ellaria about it. Dany also sent a message to Sansa Stark in Winterfell, asking for updates on affairs there and at the Wall, and for the loyalty of the North.

She finally opened the letter from Jaime Lannister and as she read she shook her head. "The man is arrogant."

"Most definitely," Varys said with a titter. "What does he say?"

She read it aloud. "Lady Daenerys Targaryen," she began.

"An insult," Ser Jorah said with a scowl before she could continue.

"Not to worry," Dany said. "Shall I continue? 'I would request a cessation of hostilities between our forces to discuss matters of utmost importance. You may have heard of the danger in the North that now threatens all of Westeros. I speak of the so-called White Walkers who by all reports have arisen again and now march on the Wall. I suggest a temporary alliance of all forces so we may meet this threat. In return for this alliance, I demand that you forgo any retribution you may seek for past events. If this is agreeable, we can meet near the upper Blackwater bridge to discuss terms.'" After she finished she frowned. "The signature is very strange…like a child's."

She showed them the letter. "He lost his right hand," Varys said as he examined the wording. "Perhaps he is still learning with the left."

Dany had heard of this fate that had befallen Jaime Lannister. Perhaps it was the gods way of seeking justice, for it was no doubt that hand he had used to kill her father.

"I suggest we at least meet with Lord Jaime," Varys said. "Take the measure of the man and see what he has to say."

"I suggest caution here," Ser Jorah advised. "They must know only you can control the dragons. If something happens to you…"

"Not to worry. My children will come with us."

"He will ask for terms," said Varys. "One will include that he is allowed to live, and be free."

Dany felt a twinge of anger. "He killed my father. That cannot be allowed. He must die."

"Agreed," said Ser Jorah.

But Varys was not so certain. "I know he must pay for his crimes…but if the reports from the North are true, I believe we will need the Lannister army at our side before the realm is truly safe. Lord Jaime will not surrender without a fight. For every man that dies, in our army and his, that is one less man to face the White Walkers."

"I cannot just let him go free," Dany said, feeling her anger build, trying to hold it in check, to fight down the dragon that had so often consumed her brother Viserys and sent him on blind rages…rages that often saw him turn his anger towards her.

"There are options," Varys replied. "Many a man who has committed a crime has gone to the Wall to live out his days as a member of the Night's Watch."

Ser Jorah frowned. "I cannot recall a man who murdered a king ever being given such a choice."

"None has," said Varys. "Oh, kings have been murdered, but the assassins were sometimes unknown, or many conspired together to kill the king. I recall Aegon the Second was poisoned and his killers never discovered. And then there was…"

"History matters not," said Dany, cutting him off. "How can I let a man who killed my father live? What will the people think of me?"

"I understand, Your Grace," Varys said. "But we must weigh how wanting to kill this one man will influence the course of events to come. I say let him take the black…for now. And who knows what will happen in days to come, in battles as yet unfought. Lord Jaime may die in many ways before he ever gets to the Wall."

"You are talking of murdering him," Ser Jorah said as if his honor had been offended. "After promising him he could take the black?"

"I will not murder a man after giving such a promise," Dany said in strong terms.

"I am not suggesting murder," Varys replied as if wounded by their words. "Oh, dear, the Spider is never trusted. All I am saying is that who knows what will happen. I say we listen to him. And if one of his terms is to let him live, then we must insist he be punished in some way. Taking the black is one way."

Dany sighed. "I must think on this. But one thing is not open for negotiation. Cersei Lannister must be handed over for our justice." No one argued with her on that point at least.

Two days later they met Jamie Lannister at the upper Blackwater bridge. It was a cold morning, but not snowing, thankfully. The Dornish had repaired the bridge the Lannisters had torn down, and the wood was fresh and unpainted. The river below was half frozen, iced over by the banks and with a slow stream of water still flowing down the center.

Drogon was directly behind her, with Rhaegal and Viserion to his sides, all three sitting on the snow, with pools of water forming around them as the snow melted. Behind them were many Dornish soldiers, a good distance back from the dragons. On the far side was a large group of Lannister cavalry, perhaps five hundred. Ser Jorah, Ellaria, and Varys were at her sides as she walked out on to the bridge. She had left the Greyjoys and Daario in charge of the forces in the city.

Two men approached. One wore greens and browns, a large man, balding and a bit red in the face, with a striding huntsman for a sigil. Lord Tarly she knew, from his family's sigil. He carried a large sword strapped to his back though he wore no armor. The other man had to be Jaime Lannister. He wore red and gold armor, and was tall, with short blond hair and stubble for a beard. He was handsome but age was catching up to him. He also wore a sword, on his right side. She knew he had lost a hand, and now her eyes fell to where he awkwardly held the right arm by his side, the hand that had killed her father no more, now a thing of steel.

They stopped about ten feet away, and after a glance at her both men's eyes widened as they looked past and at the dragons. Then Lord Tarly remembered himself and dipped his head to her. "Your Grace, I present Lord Jaime of House Lannister. Better known as the…"

"Kingslayer," she said, all her focus on Lord Jaime. "You killed my father, my lord."

"I did," he said as if they were talking about the weather.

She felt her anger rising but clamped it down. "I see you will not try to deny it."

"What's the point? The whole world knows I did it…and why. He was quite mad, you know."

"So I have been told. Ser Barristan Selmy tried to soften the truth but in the end he told me much."

"We had heard he made it all the way to Meereen."

"He did…and sadly he died there during a rebellion."

"Pity. I was always fond of him though he was not so fond of me. Wondered why Robert kept me around after I killed his predecessor."

"I wonder that myself."

"Yes…well, are we going to go over old history all day or get to the point?"

"The point, my lord, is I know not what to do with you. You killed my father, and all common sense says I must take vengeance for that act."

"That would seem appropriate. But before you feed me to your dragons perhaps Lord Varys here can tell you why I killed him."

Varys spoke up. "She knows why. The whole world knows why. Forgive me, Your Grace, but Ser Barristan was right. Your father King Aerys was quite mad."

"He planned to destroy the city with wildfire," Jaime added.

"And you saved it, is that the story?" Dany asked.

"Yes. I killed the pyromancer Rossart and then your father when they tried to give the command."

"And who gave the command this time?" Ellaria asked. "Who destroyed the city?"

"My sister and her grey rat, Qyburn," Jaime replied. "I had no knowledge of their plans. If I had been a little slower Lord Tarly and I would have still been inside the city when it was set afire."

"It seems he speaks true, Your Grace," Tarly said. "We had hardly been gone from the city when the destruction began. He and Cersei argued when the deed was done…and he did later kill Qyburn for doing it. That I saw with my own eyes."

"Qyburn is dead?" Varys asked, seeming to enjoy this news.

"He is," Jaime said. "The blood is on my hands…hand…once more. All the little birds can be yours again, if any still live."

"We care not for this man, Qyburn," Ser Jorah said. "Where is your sister?"

"Your name I did not get, ser," Jaime said.

"Ser Jorah Mormont, of Bear Island."

"Ah, yes. Weren't you exiled by Ned Stark?"

"Not exiled. I left on my own accord."

"Running from your crimes," Jaime countered.

"Ser Jorah has been pardoned for his crimes," Dany said. "The same cannot be said for your family. Where is your sister?"

"Fled west…to Deep Den I suppose," Jaime told them. "Maybe Casterly Rock by now. She left before your dragons killed my men."

"How many men ride with her?" Ser Jorah asked.

"Three," Jaime said. "Though how many are at Deep Den I know not."

"All loyal to your family," said Varys. "Loyal to you as Lord of Casterly Rock."

"Yes," Jaime replied. And then he understood as he looked back at Dany. "You want her."

"I cannot be sure of my position as Queen of Westeros if another is a rival," Dany said.

Jaime stared at them, seemingly trying to make up his mind, and then Ellaria made a scoffing sound. "I told you he would never give her up, Your Grace. We waste our time. Let his men freeze out there. They aren't going anywhere your dragons cannot find them."

He kept looking at Dany and then she spoke. "You did ask for this parley."

"I did," Jaime conceded. "What will you do with her if you find her?"

"Try her for her crimes against her realm."

"There is only one outcome to such a trial."

"I cannot have any rivals. Too often of late the realm has been torn apart because of too many who think they should sit the Iron Throne. She may flee to Casterly Rock or elsewhere, but we will find her."

"I ask that she be sent into exile," Jaime said. "Across the Narrow Sea, to Pentos or somewhere. I will go with her, and we will never trouble you again."

"No."

He sighed. "So I expected you to answer. In truth, I would not enjoy such an exile. So she must die?"

"Yes. For long years Robert's agents tried to run my brother and me down, to kill us in our sleep, two small children. He did not do so to be cruel, I now understand. He did it so he would have no rivals. I will not lose any sleep over your sister still claiming the Iron Throne years from now. The question, my lord, is what terms are agreeable to avoid any more bloodshed."

He was ready for this and answered right away. "My army will stand by yours. And if these ice demons prove true we will fight them as your allies."

Ellaria did not like this. "They will be false allies, Your Grace. All Lannisters are liars. They will stab you in the back like he stabbed your father in the back."

"Ellaria Sand, lover of the late Oberyn Martell," Jaime said. "Wasn't it you who stabbed your prince and his son in the back?"

"I did what I had to do to save Dorne from suffering any more humiliations."

"As I did what I had to do when I killed Aerys," Jaime said.

Varys tittered. "Keep speaking on how you killed Her Grace's father, my lord, and this may not go as you hoped."

"I have been wondering, Varys," Jaime said. "How did you get your Queen to let you keep your head after all the times you helped Robert send men out to kill her and her brother? And if I recall Ser Jorah here was your spy in the east."

If he expected to shock her, he was wrong. "This I know," Dany said, getting tired of them talking around her as if she was not here. "All of it. Your father made sure of it, sending messages in hopes I would kill these men who serve me."

"I see you have forgiven them. My brother Tyrion as well?"

"Your brother is now my Hand."

"Well, he always did have a good head for politics. We heard he was sent to Winterfell."

"He is there." She would tell him no more until they decided what to do with him. "So…your army will join ours. And what of you?"

"I would like to keep my life, for one. And remain in command of my army."

"My advisors have said I should accept you had reasons for killing my father, and as punishment I should strip you of all rank and lands and send you to the Wall to take the black."

"All of your advisors?" he asked, his eyes looking past her to Ellaria. "I am sure the Dornish still hate my family and want us all dead…Tyrion included."

"All of my advisors," Dany said, though Ellaria was reluctant to come to this point of view. Long talks Dany had with her just the night before, with Ellaria finally agreeing to forgo any vengeance on the remaining Lannisters as long as Dany supported her rule of Dorne.

"We may end up at the Wall anyway," Jaime replied. "I think I would rather fight on than take the black."

"You will lose," Dany said.

"Perhaps."

"You will condemn all your men to death?"

"A death we will all share if the White Walkers overrun Westeros. You need my army…and the price is my freedom."

Ellaria snarled an answer. "I say we kill him now and have done with this folly, Your Grace."

Ser Jorah was quick to speak. "To kill a man at a parley is to bring infamy on your name, khalessi."

"I will not be part of it either," Tarly said, his anger clear. "I despise the man and his family, but I will not bring dishonor to my name. Besides, he is right, Your Grace. We need every sword and man."

"What would you suggest, my lord?" she asked Tarly, trying to find time to think.

"Let him go into exile when it is all done," Tarly said.

Dany did not want that either, but then she remembered Varys' words. Anything could happen to Jaime Lannister…he could still die…in many ways. Time she needed, so she nodded.

"You must go into exile, when the wars are finished," she said to Jaime and to her side Ellaria made a sound of disgust but said nothing.

Jaime looked at her for a long moment and then nodded. "I will," he said. "Now let us…"

"There is one more thing," Dany said, interrupting him. "You must command your bannermen to arrest your sister and bring her to King's Landing."

There was a sudden stillness, as if all eyes and ears were on this one moment. She expected him to say no, that he would never give up his sister to them, the woman he supposedly loved, and had fathered three children with. And then she recalled what had happened when she found herself in this same situation. Her brother was being held by Khal Drogo's men, and gold was melting in a pot over a fire, and he was begging for his life. She knew perhaps a word from her and Khal Drogo would have let him live. But she did not want him to live. All her life he had been there, tormenting her in so many ways, this man who was of the same flesh and blood as her. In his final foolish act he had threatened her baby and her life…and he had to die so she would never have to worry about him doing anything so rash ever again.

And perhaps Jaime Lannister felt the same way, the need to be rid of this woman who had caused such turmoil, pain, and death. A moment of hesitation she saw in his eyes and then he spoke. "I will write letters to that effect, one for Deep Den and one for Casterly Rock. I will return here, before the noon hour. You can read them and then I will seal them. I am afraid I have no birds…your dragons saw to that."

"We will send them," she said, her words seemingly stuck in her throat and so coming out in almost a whisper, such was the surprise at his giving up so easily.

There was a silence and then Varys spoke. "I believe this concludes our talks, Your Grace. I shall draw up an agreement of the terms discussed."

"Yes. Before noon, Lord Jaime."

"I will be here," he said and then he dipped his head to her. "Your Grace," he said and then he and Lord Tarly retired.

Dany let out a breath she had been holding. "Will he stick to the agreement?" she asked as she turned back to her advisors.

"Hard to say," said Ser Jorah. "He is not known for being honorable."

"Never trust a Lannister," Ellaria said, her face showing how much she did not like this agreement. "Say the word and I will see him dead, Your Grace."

"No…at least not yet." Ellaria smiled, as if Dany had said Jaime Lannister would die some day. That was not what she meant but she said nothing more as they moved off the bridge towards the Dornish camp set up nearby.

The noon hour came and Lord Jaime and Lord Tarly returned and this time they came to a large pavilion, which was warmer.

"I would ask for wine and bread to seal guest right," Jaime said. "But I fear after what my father and the Freys did that custom no longer holds much protection for anyone."

"I will honor the custom," Dany said. Wine and bread were brought and they both drank and ate and then he handed over the two letters. It was as he said it would be, and she watched as he sealed them with gold wax and a Lannister sigil in each. Then Lord Varys produced the document with the terms of their treaty. Lord Jaime read it, and then signed and affixed his seal, as did she.

When done they stood by a large table covered in a map of Westeros. Lord Jaime asked the most important question. "Where would you like my army, Your Grace?"

"Harrenhal," Ser Jorah answered. "All the armies able to stand the cold will march to Harrenhal, and await word on events in the north."

"Mayhaps it better we go by sea," Lord Tarly said. "To Eastwatch or White Harbor."

Ser Jorah shook his head. "White Harbor provides no easy access to Winterfell or Castle Black, my lords. And Eastwatch is far away as well, and the seas may be too dangerous to sail so far this time of year."

"Agreed," said Jaime. "Yet a march to Harrenhal in this weather will surely see many die from the cold."

"What news from the North?" Tarly asked

"None of late," Varys said. "Perhaps all of our fears are for naught."

Tarly disagreed. "I thought so as well. My son Sam serves in the Night's Watch, and told me a tale so incredible I thought it could not be true. But why else would Snow take his army to the Wall?"

"I would like to hear this tale," Dany said and so Tarly told them all he knew. When he was done she knew this was no mummer's story. All the evidence was building up to one thing and she had to make the right decisions now. To delay may mean the end of all of Westeros.

"We march," she said. "All who can, and may the gods look on us with some favor and hold the snows back until we are at least at Harrenhal. If necessary we will march all the way to Winterfell and the Wall."

* * *

 **Winterfell – Arya**

Down into the dungeons below the armory Arya went, to see the man she wanted to kill with every fiber of her being. But she did not go as Arya Stark. That would not do, not for a scouting mission. She had to know which cell he was in, which guards were on the doors, how weak or strong the light source was, where the shadows were, and most importantly what was the best way to kill him without anyone knowing he was murdered or that she had done it.

"We do not kill for ourselves," Jaqen H'ghar had often told her. Arya was almost certain there was never anyone named Jaqen H'ghar and that the face she knew as his was most likely not his, just a person killed by the assassins, one of the hundreds stored under the House of Black and White. But his words Arya knew well enough were true, and to be a pure assassin one did not kill for oneself. Yet they were words that held no meaning for her. She found it was hard for her to kill a stranger who had not wronged her or someone else. The old man in Braavos she was supposed to kill, the who loved oysters and sold the sailors a binder in case their ships sank, he had wronged someone, but that someone was not Arya or anyone she knew. That was how they always got away with it, for the assassins had no connection to the ones who died. Not this time. The man she wanted to kill had wrong her family and the realm is so many terrible ways.

She had met Baelish, twice, the first time in King's Landing, at the jousting tournament they held when her father became Hand to King Robert. She had been a little girl then, excited about all she saw and heard, but not really enjoying the city like Sansa was enjoying it. That was until she learned how to become a water dancer.

The second time she met Baelish was in Harrenhal when she served him and Lord Tywin, and she was not sure if he had recognized her or not. He never said anything, so maybe not, but Baelish was crafty in many ways, and perhaps he said nothing to Lord Tywin for reasons Arya did not understand. She would have to be cautious when dealing with him, hence the disguise.

It was not hard to get what she needed. Now one would say no to her here, not in her own home. An old dress she got from the seamstress, a pair of worn shoes from the cobbler, a kerchief was an old one of her mother's, stained and faded, and the rest was just dirt, mud, and the positioning of her face and body to make it look like she was older and worn down by life. Her face was already a bit ruddy from the weeks spent out of doors in all kinds of weather, and her hands were certainly rough. A broom and a bucket completed the disguise.

"You still look like you," Gendry said as she stood before him in her bedroom. She had wanted it to be 'their' bedroom, but Gendry had decided that would not be appropriate, not here in her ancestral home with many people who knew her. He slept in the barracks with Bronn and Pod and the men of the Winterfell garrison, even though she said he could have a room in the great keep. Only one chance they had to be intimate with each other, that first night when they had arrived. She had told him she wanted him to stay with her in her room but in the morning as he dressed he told her how he felt.

"Arya…maybe I should sleep in the barracks with the other men. People will talk if I stay here anymore."

"I don't care. I want you here, and that's that. Don't you want to stay with me?"

"Yes! But…this is your home, your family, and people who've known you all your life, who respected your father and mother and now, here I am…in bed with their daughter…and she's not my wife."

"Then maybe we should do something about that," she blurted out without thinking. Oh, gods! What have I said!?

His eyes went wide. "Arya…do you mean…"

"No!"

"Oh." He looked disappointed, and then he got mad. "Right, cause I'm just a lowly blacksmith bastard, no good for milady and her family."

He started for the door but she grabbed his arm. "Please…don't be like that."

"I'm sorry," he said with a sigh. "But it's the truth…isn't it?"

"No, it's not. Remember what I told you, back in your rooms in King's Landing? I said you and I were all alone in the world but we didn't have to be."

"But now you aren't all alone anymore. You've got a family again."

"And I want you to be part of it."

"You mean…?" his eyes were wide again.

She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. "I think I love you," she gasped. "I think I have for years and just didn't know it. All the running, and hiding, and killing…I thought I would die sometimes…and I didn't care if I did…I was all alone…till I found you again. I love you."

He held her face in his hands and said the same. "I love you, too," and then they kissed and held each other tight for a long time.

That had been two days ago. Since then he had not stayed in her room nor had they found time for love, or did they talk about marriage again, but still they knew they loved each other. He slept in the barracks and worked with Mikken and the other smiths. Mikken was glad to have him, a well-trained smith from King's Landing who had worked with the famed Tobho Mott.

"Try the voice again," Gendry said as he looked at her disguise.

"Milord, just here to clean the cell, milord." She made it sound like she was as common as dirt.

"Good."

"I should go. Keep Nymeria here." The big direwolf was curled up on the floor by the fire in the hearth, chewing on some bones.

"I should go, too. Bronn is teaching me and Pod and some others how to fight."

"Be careful."

"You, too. I'll go first. Look strange if we go together." He gave her a quick kiss and then he left.

Down the stairs she went a short time later, and there was Lord Tyrion coming up. "Milord," she said with a dip of her head and he gave her a nod and waddled by without even a second glance.

The cells under the armory were down a flight of steps. She knocked on the outer door and a guard came to the door's small window and saw her with her bucket and broom and let her in without a question. The dungeons had six cells, with three cells on a side in a short corridor, open bars on the ones on the right, closed heavy doors with small barred windows for those on the left. Baelish was in the first one on the right with the bars. The only light source was from two torches, one at each end of the corridor. Two guards stood there by the outer door, both looking very bored. One locked the outer door again as she came in. He put the keys on his belt.

Baelish was sitting on his narrow bed, reading a book in the dim light. As she came into the corridor he looked up.

"Here to clean the prisoner's cell," she said to the guards.

"Make it quick," one said as he unlocked Baelish's door.

She stepped inside and the door was locked behind her. Baelish smiled at her in his creepy way. "Good morning."

"Milord," she said with a dip of her head as she began to sweep the rushes on the floor to the door. She got every corner, moving around, and he lifted his feet as she got close. "Beg pardon, milord."

"Not at all."

She piled the rushes up by the door. "Bring new ones later, milord."

"That would be pleasant. Also, could you empty the privy bucket."

"Will change it, milord. A clean bucket is better."

"Yes, that will do."

She took the smelly privy bucket from the corner, and put the clean bucket there. "My good woman," Baelish said. "What news from outside?"

"Milord?"

"Have the men of the Vale left yet?"

"No, milord…"

"That's enough!" a guard shouted at her. He opened the door. "No one is to talk to the prisoner."

Arya dipped her head to him and then took the privy bucket out. She swept out the rushes and then climbed out of the prison level. Across the cold courtyard she went to empty the smelly privy bucket in the barrack's privy and then she found the new rushes and returned to the cell and put them on the floor and gathered up the old ones to take away. Baelish was on his bed again reading his book and this time he did not look up or say a word to her. Just as she was about to leave a girl from the kitchens came and gave Baelish a tray with food on it, a bowl of soup, bread, and a cup of ale.

Baelish made a face when he saw the food. "Soup and bread again? Perhaps Lady Stark is trying to starve me to death?"

The young girl looked embarrassed. "It's what they told me to bring you, milord."

"No talking," the guard said and then Arya and the girl left.

Later back in her room she took off the disguise and felt it was a successful venture. Killing him in his cell would be difficult without anyone knowing he was murdered, but the girl and her tray of food gave her the perfect cover. She would poison him. She knew just what to give him. It would make it seem as if his heart gave out. Hopefully the maester had some in his stores. Soon the evil scum would die…once Sansa gave the word.

But the days dragged on and no word was given. Sansa was waiting for Lord Royce to answer her letter, but no answer came. The men of the Vale finally began their march to the Wall, the day after Arya's visit to Baelish, as the weather seemed better, with no snow for days and temperatures rising a bit. After they left, Sansa and the other commanders seemed in a better mood, for they had been worried about a revolt of some kind.

News did not come from the Wall but it did come from the south, and when they heard it, all were shocked by the enormity of what Cersei Lannister had done.

Sansa called all the commanders to her solar and then she read the letter that had arrived from King's Landing. It was from a Dornish woman, calling herself Ellaria Sand, and she claimed that the city had been destroyed with wildfire after the Lannisters had left in the middle of the night.

"This is incredible," Ser Davos said, his face white as he read the letter. Gendry had told her that King's Landing was Ser Davos' hometown, and now he seemed shaken by this terrible news.

"Not for my sister," Tyrion said to that. "Nothing she does will ever surprise me again. She wanted revenge on them, perhaps for the walk they made her take."

"Glad I wasn't there," Bronn said, sitting back, looking bored as usual.

"How many are dead?" Arya asked.

"It doesn't say," her sister told her. "No doubt many."

"Good tactics, it was," Bronn said and they all looked at him. "They knew they couldn't hold the city, not against dragons and all. So wreck the place, leave the new Queen a mess to clean up, and no shelter for her and the rest. It's a good plan."

"Cowards," Brienne said with anger. "She kills innocents so she can flee. All she is doing is delaying the inevitable."

"Where will they go?" Sansa asked.

"Casterly Rock," Tyrion answered. "If the weather permits." The letter now came to his hands. "Yes, this is four days old and no doubt the disaster older still. A week at least they must have been marching by now. Let us hope our Dornish friends and the Tyrells are hounding their every step."

Arya looked at him and wondered how he could hate his family and his people so much. Then again, she had not been on trial for her life with her father as prosecuting judge. When she had heard all this, she knew why he had killed his father.

A short talk she had had with Tyrion one night. "I was your father's cupbearer at Harrenhal."

They were at dinner, and he was sitting across from her in the great hall. This news took him aback. "How did that come about?"

"Gendry and I were taken as prisoners to Harrenhal. In fact, your father saved our lives. The Mountain was torturing and killing many and Gendry was next. Lord Tywin put an end to it."

"A waste of useful workers, no doubt he thought. And then he made you his cupbearer?"

"Yes. I served his meals, brought him wood for his fire, cleaned his solar and room."

"And he never once asked who you were?"

"He did, and I lied, and he believed me. We talked many times. Actually, I think he liked me a bit."

"Strange. I have never known my father to like anyone."

"Maybe you didn't know him as well as you thought."

Tyrion sighed. "It is hard to know a man who despised you since birth." After he said that Arya dropped the topic and Tyrion never asked her about it again.

The meeting broke up after Tyrion said Sansa should write to King's Landing with news of what was happening in the North, little as it was.

Four days later a new letter came from King's Landing, this time from Daenerys Targaryen. She was in the capital, and was asking for homage from all in the realm.

This brought a new dilemma for Sansa. "Jon is our King," she said to the gathered leaders. "How can we declare loyalty to Daenerys Targaryen if we also declare loyalty for Jon?"

"You can't," Tyrion said right away.

Ser Davos spoke. "Jon in truth is a reluctant King. I am sure he will step down if asked."

"He will," Sansa said with certainty. "But how will the Northern lords who declared him King react?"

"Not well," said Tyrion. "Maybe it would be best if I wrote to her and explain all this and see if we cannot reach some kind of accord."

Sansa agreed and they wrote the letter together. Arya was bored by all this talk and she left them and walked to the forge where Gendry was working with Mikken and the other smiths. She liked the forge, with its warmth and smells, and of course the man she loved was there.

It wasn't long before all the castle knew she and Gendry were more than just friends. At first she thought Bronn had said something.

"Not me," he said when she confronted him. "And wasn't it you who said there was nothing to it?"

"Yes…I mean no. I mean…"

"Look, no one cares," Bronn said. "Be happy while you can, lass. We might be all dead soon enough."

Dead, soon enough, and two days later came the first sign that Bronn might be right. A rider came in the late afternoon, one of the men who had left a week earlier with the Vale men, and he claimed they had all turned around and were marching back…and that the Wall had fallen and the wights were coming down the Kingsroad!

After the shock of this news the whole castle stood to arms all night. Arya and Gendry with Bronn and Pod and Brienne and many more stood on the battlements of the north gate. Most could not sleep, but not Bronn. He went inside, found a cot and stretched out on it.

"Wake me when the war starts," he said when Arya asked him what he was doing.

"How can you sleep?"

"Best time to sleep is when you can. Never know if you'll have time in the future."

Arya saw the wisdom of that and then knew what she wanted to do, and it was not get some sleep. She found Gendry and took him by the hand and led him to a small supply room and there they made love without saying a word, both filled with desire as they tore their clothes off, and also filled with a fear they might never have this chance again.

Nothing happened in the night but early the next morning Podrick was the first to spot a group coming down the Kingsroad.

"Wights?" Brienne asked, her breath and all the others coming in clouds in the cold.

"No, my lady, Vale men…with a sleigh…and in the sleigh are two people…and a big…dog."

"That's not a dog," said Bronn, his eyes sharp as well. "That's a direwolf. A big white direwolf."

"Ghost!" said Arya…and Jon!

As if to underscore her words by her side Nymeria perked up and let loose a howl that almost deafened them all. She then scampered down the stairs and Arya and Gendry chased after her.

"It's Jon, it has to be Jon!" she said with joy.

But it was not Jon…it was Bran! In through the gates he came, with many men of the Vale as an escort, and in the sleigh with him was a dark haired girl and Ghost. The direwolf leaped from the sleigh and started playing and dancing around with Nymeria…the last of six brothers and sisters...and Arya could not help but feel sad for them. But then she was with Bran, hugging her little brother.

"Gods, you've gotten big," she said with a grin, trying to hold back her tears.

"So have you," said Bran. "Arya, I have much to tell you."

"So have I."

"The Wall fell," he said, and he seemed ashamed of the fact, as if he had done it.

"We know. You sent a rider."

Many more people were arriving, and all were dipping their heads and saying 'Lord Stark'. Before they could speak on anything more Sansa was there with Ser Davos and Tyrion. Her eyes full of tears Sansa hugged Bran and then she introduced Ser Davos and Tyrion.

"Lord Stark," Ser Davos said as he dipped his head.

"Jon has told me all you have done for our family and the North, ser. I thank you."

"My duty, my lord."

"Lord Tyrion," said Bran as his eyes fell on the small man. "I hear you are now part of our family."

Both Tyrion and Sansa seemed to blush. "Ah…a reluctant part, my lord," Tyrion said. "As I am sure you've heard from your brother and sister. We will annul the marriage soon we hope."

"As you wish," said Bran. Then he looked at Sansa. "There is much to talk on."

With Gendry's help they got him out of the sleigh. In his strong arms Gendry carried Bran into the great keep, with the girl introduced as Meera Reed coming with them.

"Who are you?" Bran asked Gendry as they climbed the stairs.

"Gendry Waters, my lord."

"Arya's man," Sansa added.

"Sansa!" Arya almost shrieked.

"Well, he is, isn't he?"

"Yes, but…yes, he is."

"In truth, Bran," Sansa said in a low voice. "He is Robert Baratheon's son."

"Gods, Sansa!" Arya said in anger. "Can't you keep one of my secrets?"

"He is our brother and lord now," she retorted in an airy manner. "He must know everything."

Arya was too angry to say anything to that. Soon they were in Sansa's rooms, and a heavy stuffed chair was dragged forward for Bran to sit on. "These will be your rooms soon," Sansa told Bran.

"I'd rather sleep in my old bed if I can."

There was a moment of awkwardness and then Tyrion spoke. "My lord, you are the heir to Winterfell. As such it would not do to place yourself in a position where people would comment on how reluctant you seem to be lord. With the position come the perks, as it were. And if you do not accept the perks, people will talk."

Bran sighed. "Very well. But first I must tell you much. And then you must take me to the weirwood."

"Why?" Arya asked.

"So I can use the weirwood to search the past and find Lightbringer. Jon needs the sword if he is to be the prince."

"Gods," said Tyrion, his eyes wide, and everyone stared at him, confusion clear on all faces Arya saw, including hers she was sure. "The prince who was promised he is talking about," Tyrion told them. "An old legend, about Azor Ahai being reborn and stopping the White Walkers." His eyes went back to Bran. "And you think Jon is the prince?"

"So did Melisandre."

"Where is she?" Ser Davos asked.

"Dead, a rider from the army told us," said Meera. "She stayed behind and held off the wights with fire as Jon and the army escaped."

"As she said she would," said Sansa as she looked to Ser Davos. Arya knew the story, of how Shireen Baratheon died. Ser Davos wanted the red woman as dead as Arya did and now she was, but he seemed strangely unemotional about it. Maybe he had wanted to kill her himself, like Arya did. Or maybe he had too much else on his mind, like they all did, including her.

"Where is Jon?" Arya asked, the most important question as far as she was concerned.

"Coming here, with the army," said Bran. "And so are the wights and the White Walkers."


	10. Chapter 10

**Game of Thrones Season 7 Chapter 10**

 **Oldtown – Samwell**

Sam had not been imagining things when he thought he had someone following him. Now he was certain, and he was even more certain the one following him was an old nemesis of his, Leo Tyrell.

He had not known Leo was a student at the Citadel until he started taking lessons. Sam had just sat down in a class on astronomy when he heard the voice from his childhood.

"A fat whale dressed in black. Gods, what has this place come to if they accept the likes of that?"

Sam turned as laughter filled the room. There he was, Lazy Leo, or so Sam's father had started calling him. Born to wealth and with the good looks of most of the Tyrells, Leo had done little with what the gods had given him. Before he was sent off to the Night's Watch, Sam had heard Leo's father was despairing of him. The stories that came to Horn Hill were of a young man who liked his drink and girls, and gambled away whatever coin his father had given him.

But it was the memories of childhood that came back to Sam in a flood. The pale though handsome face and locks of blond hair that had stood over Sam in the practice yard as he cried his eyes out after Leo had knocked him down in a duel. That was when his father had still trying to turn him into a man.

"Leo Tyrell," Sam said that day in the classroom and the youth's eyes narrowed as he stared at Sam.

"Sam Tarly," he said, his cruel mouth twisted in a slight sneer as he finally recognized Sam. "Now I know this place is going to the dogs. Fat Sam Tarly, a craven who cried when I barely hit him with a tourney sword. I thought you had gone to the Wall and been killed. Or is that what your father wished for?"

The novices around Leo laughed again, though Sam noticed one who didn't, a dark skinned, dark-eyed slim youth dressed in brown breeches and a green top, with a tight mass of curly black hair on his head. Sam immediately thought he was from Dorne and when he spoke he was even surer.

"Are you from the Nights' Watch?" the dark-eyed youth asked him. Sam later learned his name was Alleras.

"Yes, I just came from the Wall to train as a maester."

"Gods, Tarly," said Leo. "Don't you know they hang deserters from the Night's Watch?"

"Lord Commander Snow ordered me to come here," Sam said, trying to sound confident. "I am to take Maester Aemon's place."

"Aemon Targaryen?" Alleras asked.

"Yes," Sam said. "He died a while ago."

"We heard," another novice replied in a sad tone.

"He was the oldest man in Westeros," said Alleras. "Did you know him well?"

"Yes, I was his assistant," Sam said and then before they could talk anymore the archmaester who taught astronomy came into the room and the lesson began.

That had been weeks ago, and much had happened since. His brother had died, his father had been captured by the Lannisters, and his mother and sister had returned to Horn Hill to await Dickon's remains so he could have a proper funeral. His mother had begged Sam to come home as well, to become the man of the house until their father could be ransomed, but Sam insisted he could not break his vows. His mother did not understand, and her anger was only dwarfed by her tears. His sister was more understanding.

"You will always have a place in Horn Hill, despite what father says," she told Sam before they left.

"I know. But my place is here, and at the Wall with the only brothers I have now."

She smiled slightly. "You finally found a place in the world. But what about Gilly and the baby? What will the men of the Watch do if you return north with them?"

Sam had worried on that. Men of the Watch had tried to rape her and had beaten him badly. With Jon no longer Lord Commander, he might be targeted again. But he also knew Edd would protect him, and those who had tormented him the worst were now all dead.

"They'll be fine," he said.

"Maybe they should stay with us."

"Father won't like that."

"Mother will persuade him. Now that…that Dickon is gone…maybe he will raise baby Sam to be his heir."

"You think he would?" Sam asked, a bit hopeful.

"If Mother has her way he will."

"What about you? You are heir now, aren't you?"

She sighed. "Yes, and it will be a curse if I do inherit."

Sam was confused. "Why a curse?"

"Women are always expected to marry. And if I inherit every man who only wants our land and gold will promise me his love until I say the vows and he can claim it all as his as my husband."

"Surely there is some man with a good heart who will marry you."

She smiled a bit. "Maybe. But if I am heir to Horn Hill I will always wonder where his heart truly lies. No, better if baby Sam is heir. He must come to Horn Hill and be raised to be a lord and gentleman."

"But I promised Gilly we would never be separated again. I love her."

"That's grand…but what kind of life will they have? You can't live with her and the baby. You can never marry her, and always the threat will be there at the Wall. They can send her away at any time…and what can you do?"

"My friend Edd is Lord Commander now," Sam replied. "That won't happen."

"But what if he dies?"

Sam had no answer to that, for he knew she was right about everything. They were leaving the next morning so that night he spoke to Gilly in their bedroom in the apartment as the baby slept in the crib nearby. "Maybe you and baby Sam should go…"

"No," she said right away before he could finish. "We won't be separated again. You promised."

"I know…but in Horn Hill you will be safe…and so will Sam. At the Wall I can't look after you."

"I lived all my life north of the Wall," she told him. "We will survive."

"You lived with your father and sisters, not alone with a baby. What about the White Walkers and wights being everywhere?"

That gave her pause. "But…what about you? If we go to Horn Hill you'll be all alone here and then when you go back to the Wall."

"I'll be fine."

"You always say that. You won't be fine." Then her eyes lit up. "You can come with us! All of us can live at Horn Hill."

"I can't. I'm a man…"

"Of the Watch. I know, but they aren't here. Jon Snow is King of the North now you said. He can make sure they never come after you."

"The King is supposed to help the Watch catch deserters."

She had no answer to that. "Sam…what will happen if we go to Horn Hill and your father comes home?"

"You let me and my mother worry about that. Maybe…maybe my father will make baby Sam his heir now…now my brother is dead."

"Baby Sam…heir?" Then she lowered her voice. "But…what if they find out the truth some day? What if they know…?"

"Ssssh," he said quickly. "We don't think on it, we don't talk about it. Ever. Not even to Sam when he is older. No one must ever know. He is my son and that is all there is to it. And maybe someday he will be Lord Tarly."

She hugged him tight and cried out. "I just don't want to lose you."

"You won't. I promise."

Gilly pulled back and wiped her eyes and finally nodded. "We will go to Horn Hill."

"I'm sorry."

She sighed. "Will we ever see you again?"

"Yes, I…hope," he said. He was going to say 'I promise' but he knew he couldn't. After his training he would have to go back to the Wall…and only the gods knew what would happen to him there.

In the morning they told his mother and sister the news and they were happy for this one small bit of joy. And then his mother had one more surprise, something she had already planned. An older man came to the apartments, and in his leather bag he had parchment, ink, and a quill. He was a notary, who made legal documents for people.

"Sam," his mother began. "I know you and Gilly are not married...and may never be. But if you want baby Sam to grow up as a Tarly, you must make him your son in the eyes of men and the gods."

The notary produced a parchment that said Sam acknowledged the baby as his and which gave the baby all rights as a son of the Tarly family. He would no longer be considered a bastard and would even stand to inherit someday, if Lord Tarly agreed.

Sam had a bad thought. "Father won't like this."

"You never mind what he will or won't like," his mother replied. "I will make him see this is the right thing to do."

Sam took up the quill, dipped it in ink, and signed his name. He had no sigil stamp so he put his right thumbprint in ink next to his name. The notary then affixed his signature and his sigil stamp in melted wax. His mother paid the notary and then the man left them.

"There, that settles all that," his mother said. "Now don't you worry on anything. Study hard, and find the answers you are looking for. Every day we will pray for you and light a candle in the sept."

After many tears and hugs goodbye, Sam saw them off, riding in a carriage with a wagon behind them with their baggage and the three servants that had come from Horn Hill. Gilly leaned out the carriage window and looked back at him one last time and then touched her fingers to her rosy lips and blew him a farewell kiss.

Sam felt an ache in his heart after they were gone, but the following days went by with Sam busy as he had ever been, so that eased the pain somewhat. Each day he studied and each night he read the old reports from the Wall in library. He tried to talk to Jon again a few times with the candle but Jon never answered.

The day after he had talked to Jon he went to the library to begin a new search, about Azor Ahai and Lightbringer. But he couldn't ask the maester in charge of the library. Archmaester Marwyn's warning was vivid in his mind. 'One morning they will find you face down in the river…or worse'. Sam didn't want to think what 'worse' meant.

After a few days searching through the many rows of bookshelves he found nothing to point him in the right direction. On the day Gilly and his mother and sister went back to Horn Hill Sam left the library in the late afternoon, disappointed again. How could he help Jon know if he was the true prince or not or find the sword Lightbringer? Then he had a sudden thought. There was only one other place he could look, Marwyn's rooms.

Sam was panting with breath when he reached the top of the stairs to Marwyn's rooms. The sound of the white ravens quorking above was loud as usual. The white ravens had been sent out to warn the realm of approaching winter but now they were all back. Sam thought it was a bit of a waste to keep all these ravens here for years with nothing to do but fly out once winter was beginning. He would have said such to the archmaester teaching them about ravenry, but he knew not to draw anymore attention to himself now.

In the rooms the tall obsidian candle still burned and gave off light. Sam thought to take it to his apartments in town but then remembered Marwyn's warning to leave it here. Sam looked around and found many books and scrolls and to his surprise many dealt with the topic of the White Walkers and with the prophecy of the prince that was promised. He wondered why Marwyn had not told him this but in his haste to leave perhaps he forgot.

Long into the night he read until his eyes tired. It all seemed a waste for nothing new he learned. But he had only read a bit of the collection and so knew he had to return the next night. Climbing up and down the stairs was tiring so Sam decided to take a few books with him and filled an old backpack he found. As he was about to leave he stood in front of the candle, closed his eyes and thought of Jon and Castle Black. He said Jon's name a few times…but nothing happened.

Sam locked the door and started down the long stairs, then outside he went across the bridge over the Honeywine River and left the Citadel. It was dark and a bit of a chill was in the air, unusual this far south, but maybe not now winter was coming for certain.

As he walked through the streets suddenly he heard a noise of laughter behind him and Sam turned and saw a man half a block away, lurching out of a tavern on unsteady feet.

"Get out you bum!" the tavern keeper shouted as the man fell in the street. Sam was about to go back to help him, when he saw someone in the shadows step quickly back. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a hint of a colorful cape, like the one Leo Tyrell wore. Sam forgot about the man in the gutter and quickly turned around and almost ran all the way back to his now empty apartment.

Over the next few days he thought he saw Leo several times behind him or in the hall ways of the Citadel, as if he had just passed by or went into a doorway when Sam turned around. Of course, they had many classes together, so maybe he was just coming or going from the same place as Sam at the same time.

Sam began to fear for his life, as Marwyn had warned. If Leo was following him, then it must have been the elderly archmaesters who put him up to it. With Gilly gone and Jon out of touch, he had no one to tell of his fears…except one person. The dark-eyed, slim youth in his classes named Alleras.

"I am sure it isn't Leo," Alleras said as they ate lunch in a large hall in the Citadel. They were seated alone, with the other novices busy taking different classes. Not everyone studied everything at the same time, and each novice had strengths and weakness which the archmaesters tried to improve on so they could earn a metal link for their chain. Sam, for example, had much knowledge about ravens after his experiences at Castle Black so he was quickly assigned to learn more about ravenry. Alleras already had a few links, and was sure to soon earn more as he was one of the best students.

"Maybe it's not him," Sam admitted for he had never gotten a clear look at who was following him. Alleras knew why Sam was afraid, and they talked at length on the White Walker problem, and about his experience beyond the Wall, and the archmaesters reaction to Sam's stories.

"They are fools not to listen to you," Alleras said, getting a bit angry.

"What could they do even if they believed me?"

"Act! Do…something! Instead of sitting here as if the world outside these walls mattered not at all."

Sam leaned closer. "Marwyn is already doing something…he has gone to find Daenerys Targaryen."

Alleras looked about to make sure no one was nearby. "You must never tell anyone this. Already they have being asking questions about him. They think he has gone to see his ill father in the Stormlands. If they know the truth, they will try to find him and stop him."

"What should I do?"

Alleras stood, and picked up his wooden tray with the now empty dishes on them. "You must keep reading, Sam. You must find out who the prince is…and where Lightbringer is, before it is too late."

Sam knew he was right and so the daily search continued. He already suspected Jon was the prince but he couldn't tell anyone this secret. He returned to Marwyn's rooms every night and now he took no more books away but read them there. He also tried to contact the archmaester and Jon with the candle but had no more success.

And then one night he found something in an old scroll...a story about what happened to Brandon the Builder and Azor Ahai after the White Walkers were defeated.

 _Brandon Stark fell in love with a northern woman and started a family. He raised a small castle over a hot spring and called it Winterfell. Azor Ahai served as commander of the order of men that came to be called the Night's Watch. Under his command they raised the Wall higher and protected the realm for decades. After long years Azor Ahai retired and Lord Stark invited him to spend his last years at Winterfell. There in his eighty-second year Azor Ahai passed at last to be joined in death with his beloved. In his grief at the loss of his friend Brandon built a stone likeness of Azor Ahai and buried him under the statue in the crypts under the castle._

Sam was astounded at the tale. Azor Ahai was buried at Winterfell…and maybe his sword was as well! No one knew. No, Archmaester Marwyn must know, for this was his scroll…but it was one of many and maybe he never had time to read it.

Sam looked at the obsidian candle, closed his eyes, and said, "Archmaester Marwyn" aloud…once, twice, three times…and this time he got an answer.

"Yes, Sam. I am here," said the Archmaester and Sam suddenly felt like he was in a small room lit only by a candle on a stand by a bed. Marwyn was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed as he was the last time Sam had seen him.

"Archmaester," Sam said in surprise. "Where are you?"

"A small inn on the road to King's Landing," he replied.

"You are going to King's Landing?"

"Yes, Daenerys Targaryen is there now. I must speak to her. What news of your research?"

Sam quickly told him what he found. "Interesting," Marwyn said. "I must have missed that story. Perhaps the sword has been in Winterfell all this time."

"There is more," Sam said and then he told him all about what Jon said in his letter and the conversation they had about his birth and what it could mean.

Marwyn was electrified by this news and stood up and began pacing. "I must get to the Queen immediately," he suddenly said. He put on his cloak and picked up his walking stick and backpack and then looked back at Sam. "Try to speak to Jon Snow again, tell him what you know of the sword's possible location. Take the scroll with you. Tomorrow I should be in King's Landing. Contact me again."

"I will," Sam said and then Marwyn walked out the door of his room.

He tried to contact Jon right away but again had no luck so decided to return the next night. But when he returned the next night everything was undone. When he arrived at the door to Marwyn's chambers in the light of a whale oil lantern he carried he saw the door was broken open, the wood around the lock shattered as if by several axe blows. In a rush he ran into the room. Inside all was a wreck. Everything was a mess, the table and chairs overturned, and every scroll and book and paper was gone. And so was the tall obsidian candle.

"You should have stopped looking long ago," said Leo Tyrell from the doorway just after Sam turned over the table and put his lantern on it.

"Leo…did you do this?" Sam asked in anger as he spun around.

Leo laughed in his sneering way. "Me? I don't give a care for what you do, Sam. They did it."

"You were following me."

"I was…I am."

"Why?"

"They asked me to. I said no, not my problem. So they threatened to kick me out. You know what I said?"

Sam could guess. "You told them you were a Tyrell." He was in truth from a minor branch of the Tyrell family, but he was still part of a powerful family.

"Yes…and they said that didn't matter. They said my father had written to them. They said they knew what my father had said to me before I left home. If I failed here, I was to never come home again and would be cut off from my family."

"Sounds like your father and my father are alike in many ways," Sam said.

"Maybe. So I followed you and told them what you were doing. Very boring, if you ask me. I always thought Archmaester Marwyn was a bit odd, and you a weakling and a coward, and neither a danger to anything or anyone. But they think you are. You kept asking questions and looking where you shouldn't…and so today they finally decided to deal with the 'Sam Tarly problem' as they call it."

"I won't stop asking, I won't stop looking."

"I know. So do they."

There was the sound of metal scraping on leather and only now in the dim light of the lantern Sam had placed on the table did he notice that Leo was armed. A thin blade was in his right hand. He pointed it at Sam.

"Outside, now. Take the lantern."

"Leo…what are you doing?" Sam asked, trying to sound brave as a man of the Watch should be.

"Making my chain. They said if I do this I will be given an easy passage through these halls. In less than a year I will be a maester. Not the life I wanted but it will provide me with the things I need to have an easy life. And my father will make sure I am not left out of his will."

"Maesters abandon all family ties when they make their chain. You can't inherit."

"Yes, but I am a Tyrell after all, and my father will make sure there is something for me. All I have to do is make my chain…and to do that I have to do what they asked me to do."

"Do what?" Sam asked in a weak voice, almost a squeak, for he knew what the answer was before he had asked.

"Take care of you. Step out here."

Sam gulped and felt as if he was about to piss his breeches. He had no weapon as his sword was back in his apartment. The archmaesters frowned upon students carrying weapons in the Citadel, for maesters were not men of war. However, many novices had some weapons training. Alleras was an expert with the bow, and Sam and the other novices had seen him demonstrate this several times. As for Leo, he was well known as a fine swordsman.

But Sam was not the same boy who had near pissed himself when the White Walkers had attacked the Fist of the First Men. He had killed a Walker, and a Thenn, and he had a woman and a son and a mother and sister to worry on now, and all that gave him the bravery he needed to act, to overcome this boy who had once tormented him in a training yard and caused him such shame. With one swift move he picked up the lantern and threw it at Leo Tyrell.

The hot lantern struck Leo's sword arm and he yelled, dropped the sword, and leaped back as it fell to the floor. The lantern cracked open and whale oil spilled out across the old rugs Marwyn had on his floors and caught fire. Sam hardly noticed for he was moving, his huge bulk leaping over the fire and slamming into Leo. Back they went, into the wooden railing on the landing that looked over the deep, dark stairwell, a hundred feet or more of empty space. The wooden railing cracked, but did not break.

As the quorking of the white ravens above them grew stronger Sam's hands came up and grabbed Leo by the throat…or at least he tried. Leo was stronger, and he pushed Sam back and then his right foot came up and caught Sam square in the privates. Sam yelled and buckled and felt like he was going to be sick as he fell to his knees on the floor.

Leo grabbed him by the front of his cloak and picked him up. "Goodbye, Fat Sam," he said with a sneer as he pushed Sam back towards the cracked railing. And then something flashed by Sam at eye level and as if by magic a long arrow sprouted from Leo's left eye. He grunted once, let go of Sam, and fell dead to the stair landing floor.

"Sam!" Alleras shouted as he rushed up the stairs, his huge bow in hand. "Are you all right?"

"Yes,…I think."

"The fire!"

Sam turned around and saw the fire was spreading, reaching out towards Leo's body. The old rugs in Marwyn's rooms were on fire, and now a wooden bookcase as well, and soon the rest would be going up. It was already too big to put out and the smoke was getting thicker.

"Let's go!" Alleras said in a rush, grabbing Sam by the cloak.

"What about the ravens? The other people!"

Alleras hesitated and then nodded. "The ravens first!"

Up the nearby stone steps they raced into the white raven rookery. They began to open cages and almost at once the ravens flew out the open windows, as smoke poured up into the rookery, the birds' survival instincts sending them fleeing.

"Time to go!" Alleras shouted and once more they raced downstairs, the smoke almost choking them. Already people were on the stairs, some running up, to see what was happening.

"It's too late," Sam shouted to them. "It's too big!"

"We must fight the fire!" a maester said. "The ravens! We must…"

"We saved them," Alleras told the maester. "They are all gone. Let's go before we suffocate!"

Now they raced down the stairs and more people were coming out of rooms and following them. They pounded on every door and checked many rooms and Sam hoped they got everyone.

Outside they stood for a few moments, looking up at the fire and smoke, as more people came running.

"We must go, Sam," Alleras said quietly, and they slipped away in the confusion. In a short time they were at Sam's apartment.

"We can't stay in Old town," Alleras told him. "They will soon be looking for us, asking questions."

"Leo tried to kill me," Sam told him.

"I know…I was following him."

"Then you heard what he said?"

"No…all I saw was him trying to push you over the railing…so I killed him."

"Thanks. In truth he was doing it for the archmaesters. Because of what I am looking for."

"I guess we will never be maesters now."

Sam felt a bit sad about that, but after what he knew of the Citadel he was glad he was leaving. "Where will we go?"

"North," Alleras said. "We must find Marwyn."

"I know where he is going."

"Good. Do you have any money?"

"Yes, plenty. My mother left it when she went home."

"We need to buy some horses. I know where there is a stable. Let's take as much food as we can. Hurry. Soon they will come here. And then the questions will begin, about Leo, and the fire."

In a short time they had packed all they could and made their way to a stable. Sam now had his sword again and he felt better with it on him. Through the dark streets they walked. Sam felt something wet touch his face and then he looked up. More wetness he felt, gentle, unlike rain drops, and he knew it was snow.

"Snow…here," Sam said. "Winter is truly upon us."

Alleras laughed. "What's funny?" Sam asked.

"I've never seen snow before."

"Where we are going you will soon be sick of it."

"You said you know where Marwyn is now," Alleras said. "How?"

"The candle that was in his room…I used it to talk to him yesterday. He said Daenerys Targaryen is in King's Landing. That's where he is going. And we must go there, too."

* * *

 **King's Landing – Dany**

The Oldtown archmaester was asking for her again, Ser Jorah told Dany. Three times in two days he had come to the gates of the Red Keep asking for her, saying he had something of great importance to share but he would not tell anyone but her. Dany was in the room they used for small council meetings, a small room near the kitchens, as the old small council room was in a shambles. She had some masons working on repairing the Red Keep, but priority was for the city and making shelter for the people, so she would have to make do with what rooms were available for now.

With her were Varys, Missandei, the Greyjoys, Ellaria, and Ser Jorah. "Maybe he really has something to tell us," Varys said. "Why else would he travel so far in such weather?"

"Very well," Dany said. "Theon, please send word to bring him here."

"Aye, Your Grace," Theon said as he stood and went to the doors and told the guards to send word to bring the archmaester here. Theon then returned to his seat.

"You shouldn't see him alone, Your Grace," Yara said. "I wouldn't trust any of the grey mice, especially not after what that Qyburn did here."

"Tales we've heard of his ways," added Theon. "The things he did to people in his chambers, and how he kept Gregor Clegane alive. It's not natural."

"Maesters are supposed to heal and advise, not try to act like the gods," Ellaria added.

"He was not a maester," Varys told them. "Oh, he trained as one, but he was thrown out of the Citadel for his odd ways."

"Qyburn is dead now, so we do not need to worry on him," Ser Jorah reminded them.

"Still don't trust any of them," Yara added. "Few lords in the Iron Islands ever had one. Our father did, but only to mind the ravens. But he never trusted him."

"We need them," Dany reminded her council. "They heal, and have much knowledge that is useful. But let us put that aside for now. What news have you learned?"

Ser Jorah spoke. "Lord Tarly is bringing his army up the Kingsroad but the snow is slowing them. The last of the Lannister army has finally reached the city. They are camped north of the Gate of the Gods, astride the Kingsroad, far away from any civilian camps."

"Good," said Dany. "We do not want any unrest if the people try to seek revenge on the Lannisters."

Ellaria scowled. "Maybe we should give the people a few Lannisters to satisfy their desire for revenge. I know of one I won't miss."

Varys tittered. "Oh, they would love to have Lord Jaime's head on a spike. But soon Cersei will be here and I am sure the people would rather have her head if they can only have one Lannister."

"We must be cautious when Cersei arrives here," Dany said. "I do not want any riots, any unfortunate…accidents. She will be tried and then punished."

"Why try her?" Yara asked. "We all know she is guilty."

"We should just hang her and be done with it, Your Grace," Theon said.

Dany shook her head. "We will do things the proper way. I will not start my reign with blood lust."

"Agreed," said Ser Jorah. "But it may be some time before she gets here, with the snows blocking the roads west."

"And north as well," Yara said. "Daario's patrol reported back this morning, Your Grace. There is no way to get up the Kingsroad until the snows abate somewhat."

"By sea we should go," Ellaria suggested and Theon quickly agreed.

"We have the ships," he said. "We can make small voyages. First to Duskendale, then White Harbor. Ten days at the most and we will be in the North."

"If the weather holds," his sister said with a look of scolding to her brother. "One storm and all will be lost."

Theon shrugged. "The will of the Drowned God. If we are afraid to sail we will never get to the North."

Ser Jorah spoke. "Even if we make it to White Harbor, it is difficult to go overland from there to Winterfell."

Before anymore discussion could take place, the guards announced the archmaester was here. "Show him in," Dany said.

He was a short, squat man, with a huge head and jaw, dark of hair and eye, and with massive hands holding a walking stick. He wore a travel stained cloak over furs and breeches, and didn't wear the grey robes of a maester. Around his neck was a heavy chain with many links in it.

With two guards behind him he stood by the table and dipped his head to Dany. "Your Grace, I am Archmaester Marwyn of Oldtown."

"Welcome, Archmaester. I am Daenerys Targaryen. And these are…"

"Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island," the Archmaester said before she could. "Ellaria Sand of Dorne, now called Princess Ellaria. Theon and Yara Greyjoy of the Iron Islands. And Lord Varys, whose reputation is known throughout the realm." His eyes fell on Missandei. "You, my child, you I do not know. You are not from Westeros."

"I am Missandei, the Queen's interpreter," she said. "I come from Essos."

"So, you know who we are," said Dany. "But who are you?"

"A simple maester," Marwyn replied. "But I have news of great importance…for your ears only, Your Grace."

"These are my advisors…I trust them with anything you tell me."

He turned around and started for the door. Dany was so shock by this rudeness she said nothing for a moment and then found her voice. "Where are you going?"

"To wait for you to come to your senses," he said without turning around. "I will return on the morrow and see if you truly understand the danger you are all in."

Ser Jorah was already moving towards the door and grabbed the archmaester by the arm and spun him around. "Men have lost their heads over speaking in such a way to royalty in the past."

"They have," said Marwyn. "Do what you must, ser, but I will speak to no one but the Queen on these matters." His eyes fell over them all again. "None of you I trust with this news. If she wishes to share it afterwards, that is her decision."

Ser Jorah still held his arm, and her two guards had their hands on their sword hilts. Dany finally spoke. "Let him go. Everyone…please leave us."

"Your Grace, he…" Ser Jorah began but she cut him off.

"I will be fine. Please leave."

"Not before I search him," Jorah said. He looked over the archmaester, and opened his backpack, and checked his body for weapons. He had none but his walking stick. Jorah took that and his backpack. "We will be outside the door," he told her.

"Not to worry," Marwyn said. "I will not harm her, ser."

In a few moments they were alone. Dany stood by her chair and he stood at the far end of the table. "Now, what is all this about?"

"The White Walkers, they…"

"We know. They exist, and may attack the Wall. Your news is old I am afraid."

"Old, I see. But what have you done about it?"

"Nothing. We have been dealing with other enemies, and now the snows keep us here. If that is all, you can go."

"No, that is not all, Your Grace. What do you know of Jon Snow?"

"I know he took his army to the Wall."

"What do you know of his parentage?"

The question took Dany aback. "I…I only know he was called Ned Stark's bastard."

"A lie…or at least the omission of a truth," Marwyn told her. "Jon Snow is indeed a Stark, but he did not sprout from the loins of Ned Stark. He was born of Ned Stark's sister, Lyanna Stark, in a place called the Tower of Joy in Dorne at the end of Robert's Rebellion."

Dany felt weak suddenly and gripped the back of the chair. "Lyanna Stark is Jon Snow's mother?"

"Yes. Ned Stark took the baby as she lay dying from blood loss in childbirth. He claimed the boy as his, called him Jon, and raised him as his bastard son. All to protect the boy from Robert's anger. Robert swore to kill anyone with the blood of your family."

"The blood…of my family?" Dany said in a bare whisper. "Lyanna Stark was his mother but she is a Stark. So…who was his father?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Your brother, Rhaegar Targaryen."

"That's…possible," she replied. She sat down and pointed to a chair and he sat also. "Tell me how you know all this."

So he told her a tale, of Sam Tarly getting a letter from Jon Snow, and what Jon said. Of Brandon Stark, and a strange power he had to see into the past, to see events, and how he saw Jon Snow's birth those many years ago.

When done he explained what it meant, though she knew already. "All the realm knows your brother kidnapped Lyanna Stark, Your Grace. He took her…but what if she went willingly? What if it was love that tore the realm apart, not lust?"

"As I always suspected," Dany replied. "All the stories I heard of my brother suggest he was not a cruel man. He loved to sing and write poetry and play the silver harp. He wanted to read books, not carry a sword into battle."

"I never knew him, but maybe it was so. If all this is true, there are other implications."

"Jon Snow may be my nephew, you mean?"

"For one. And then there is the prophecy?"

"What prophecy?"

Again he spoke at length, about the fabled Azor Ahai, and his sword called Lightbringer, and a story that Sam found in a scroll in Oldtown.

"You think Jon Snow is this Azor Ahai?"

"Either he is…or you are."

That shocked her. "Me? But I am a woman."

"Prophecy is a fickle thing, Your Grace. This particular one was written over a thousand years ago. No one knows how many times its has changed since then. The wording as we have now says 'from the seed of the dragon lords will come the prince who was promised'…but maybe it never said prince, maybe it once said 'the one who was promised'. And you fit much of the signs of the one who was promised. You were born on Dragonstone during one of the greatest storms to ever strike Westeros…born of salt of the sea waves crashing on shore, and of the smoke of Dragonstone's volcano. You are the last true Targaryen, with pure blood, a dragon rider like the lords and ladies of the past."

Dany had never suspected she was part of a prophecy and was having a hard time believing it. "How can we know for sure who it is?"

"Go, to Winterfell. If the sword is there, find it. If you can wield it, if its power responses to you, then we will know."

Her head was awhirl with all he said. "Winterfell? But the snow…the armies can't get up the Kingsroad."

"You can fly a dragon, can you not?"

"All the way to Winterfell?"

"Yes…now…before it is too late."

It was already too late, for that very afternoon came a raven from Winterfell with the dire news.

"The Wall has fallen," she told her small council after they were hastily called back to the Red Keep. Marwyn was seated with them and as of yet she had not told anyone what he had said to her, despite them asking.

They were too stunned to speak for a moment and then Ser Jorah spoke. "How?"

"It does not say," she said as she handed the raven scroll to him and then it went around the room.

Varys asked the most important question. "What of Jon Snow's army?"

"In retreat, towards Winterfell," Dany told them. "Jon Snow still lives, as far as they know."

When the scroll reached Marwyn he sighed and looked pleased. "This is from Lord Brandon Stark. He lives and is at Winterfell. Good."

"Why is that good?" Ellaria asked him in suspicion. "And why, Your Grace, is this man here?"

"He has valuable information, which I must now share with you." So she spoke, and Marwyn spoke as well, and told all they knew and suspected. Dany had decided to tell them later, but it seemed she must do it now…or they would never let her do what she had to do.

When he was done all sat in silence. Theon was more shocked than any of them, for he had grown up with Jon Snow and always knew him as Ned Stark's bastard son. "Jon Snow is a Targaryen?"

"Maybe," Dany said. "But all evidence points to this conclusion."

Ellaria was not ready to believe it. "A story, told to you about a boy's visions. How do we know there is any truth to this?"

"We don't," Dany said, looking at Marwyn. "But I am ready to take it on faith. To ignore it is to court disaster."

"Do you really believe one of you is the one?" Jorah asked her.

"I don't know…nothing is certain."

"I have heard this story before," said Varys. "Of the prince who was promised. And all tales say it is a man…a prince…not a princess…or a queen."

"Bloody men," Yara cursed. "Why can't it be a woman?"

"It is either her or Jon Snow," said Marwyn. "There is no other."

"That is why I must go to Winterfell. At once."

"Aye," said Theon as he stood. "I will see to the fleet."

"No," Dany said. "We will not go by sea. There is no time."

"But Your Grace, it is the fastest way," Theon protested.

"Not the fastest," said Ser Jorah. "Khalessi…you said 'I' must go to Winterfell. How?"

"By dragon."

"Alone?" he asked.

"No…I must take someone with me. I cannot make the trip in one flight, it is too far. I must stop and rest and have a place to fed my dragons."

"In this weather between here and Winterfell there are only three places where you can do that," said Varys.

"Aye," said Ser Jorah. "Harrenhal, the Twins, and Moat Cailin."

"The first two the Lannisters and Freys control," Yara reminded them.

"I know," she said. "That is why someone must come with me, someone to tell the garrison of Harrenhal and the Twins we are now all allies."

"Not him," Jorah said at once, knowing who she meant. "We sent ravens. They must have gotten the news by now."

"And if they did not?" Dany asked. In this weather there was no certainty that the ravens got through and Harrenhal and the Twins were two places they had not heard back from yet. "I could be flying into a trap. I may be able to destroy them, but I need allies, not enemies, and my dragons will need food. He must come with me."

They argued and pleaded with her but she could not be dissuaded. An hour later and she was at the Lannister camp with a strong guard, including Daario and Ser Jorah.

"Are you mad?" Lord Jaime asked after she told him what she planned to do. They were in his command pavilion with all his commanders present.

"Maybe. But the White Walkers have broken through the Wall and are marching on Winterfell as we speak."

That shook him and his commanders. "Then it is too late," he said.

"No…not if my dragons can reach Winterfell before they do. I need you to come with me."

"The people of Winterfell hate me as much as you do. The Starks want my head."

"Then come only as far as the Twins. After that I should be safe on my own."

He looked at her and then shook his head. "No."

"Good," said Ser Jorah. "He cannot be trusted khalessi. I will go with you."

"You didn't let me finish, ser," Jaime said. "I said 'no' to her suggested I stay at the Twins. If the war is to be at Winterfell that is where I will go. It is time to face my demons…more than one in this case, for my brother and I have much to discuss."

"Then it is settled," Dany said.

"Not yet," he said. "I would ask one thing."

"What?"

"My sister is not to be tried or…anything else…until I have a chance to speak to her."

"Agreed," Dany said.

"When do we leave?"

"Now."

"Now?" Jaime said in surprise.

"Yes. Time is fleeting. We must reach Winterfell before the White Walkers. If we don't, all of Westeros may be lost."

* * *

 **Winterfell – Bran**

The crypts under Winterfell were dark and dank, with a bit of water on the floor now. Bran and Rickon had once hid here, with Osha, when the ironmen had attacked Winterfell. It had been dryer then, but now that seemed like a lifetime ago. Now Osha and Rickon were both dead. Bran had come here to see his brother's final resting place. Sansa, Arya, Meera, and Gendry came as well, with some guards carrying lanterns. One of the guards also carried a chair.

They walked down the stairs, with Gendry carrying Bran again. At the first level they stopped. Bran knew that there were two more levels under here, but he had never been down there. A long tunnel extended from the stairway, and on both sides were the statues representing many of the rulers of the long Stark history, each one of a Lord Stark who had ruled, many with a stature of a direwolf sitting beside them, and iron swords in all their hands. All the statues were of Stark rulers…except for two.

"Lyanna," Arya said as they reached the third statue from the end on the left side. The statue of Lyanna Stark had no direwolf or sword in hand, but was of a tall slim woman looking as if she was watching something from far away. "Was she truly Jon's mother?" Arya asked.

"Yes," said Bran. After telling them he needed the sword Lightbringer and why, he had to explain all about Jon's true parents. "I saw it all."

"Poor Father," Sansa said as they reached the second last statue. There was the likeness of their father, his strong features carved in stone, with a direwolf by his side, which looked somewhat like Grey Wind. "He had to watch his sister die, and then he had to lie all those years about Jon. He could never tell anyone."

"My father knew," said Meera. "He kept the secret as well."

"A terrible thing," said Sansa. "Mother…she died without knowing. All those years…she thought Jon was Father's son. How she hated Jon…all for nothing."

"He had to lie," said Arya. "King Robert would have taken revenge on Jon."

"Was my father so cruel?" Gendry asked. "Would he kill a baby?"

"Yes," said Meera. "He would not have done it himself, I think. But someone would have. My father said for years Robert had agents looking for Daenerys Targaryen and her brother, when they were just small children."

They were silent for a few moments and then Bran realized something. "Robb should be here as well," Bran said. "He was a ruler of the North."

"Give the command and it will be done," Sansa said.

"Yes, let it be done," he replied. Then he thought of something else. "Did Father's bones ever come home?"

"They did," Sansa told him. "When I came back, I was told that Lord Baelish gave them to Mother and she sent them home."

"Good," Bran said.

Finally they came to the last statue, of a boy, taller than he remembered. "Please put me down," Bran told Gendry.

"Yes, my lord," he said as the guard rushed forward with the chair. Bran sat, holding onto the chair's arms to keep himself steady. He stared at the statue of his brother and then he sighed. "Why did he kill him?"

"Because he was a monster," Sansa said, and then she let out a small gasp. "Poor little Rickon…he never hurt anyone. And that beast used him to trick Jon, to force him to come out, to almost be killed."

"He's in hell now," Arya said, her voice full of anger. "Baelish did all this to our family. He will soon join him."

"Lord Royce is dead," Bran said. They knew this already, but his death had many meanings. "You said we cannot try Baelish without a great lord of the Vale here."

"It wouldn't be good," Sansa said. "When Jon gets back, we will decide what to do. And then we can have our revenge on Baelish."

"We can have it now, today," Arya said.

"Arya," Gendry said in a tone of caution, looking at the guards.

"I don't care," she said. "They all want him dead, too. Right?"

"Yes, my lady," said the guard who had put the chair down. "Such scum deserves a painful death."

"Hanging's too good for him," said another guard. "Draw and quarter him, my lady."

"There is a better way," Sansa said. "When the time comes, we will use Brienne's sword. It was made from Father's sword Ice."

"A fitting end, my lady," said a guard.

Arya stepped forward and touched Rickon's statue, touching his face "We will get revenge, little brother," she said. "On all who wronged us, and brought on your death and so many more."

"First we must deal with the White Walkers," Bran reminded them. They were silent for a few moments, looking at the statues, and then Bran spoke again. "Take me to the weirwood."

"It's late," Meera said. "Perhaps this can wait for morning. It always tires you."

"No, I must try again. I must know where Lightbringer is." When he first returned he had tried, but had no success. That was two days ago. Each morning since and evening he tried again, with no success. The visions came, but he did not know where to go, and who to seek. Azor Ahai was just a name in a legend. No one knew where he lived, where he came from, what he looked like. Bran spent time in the library searching the old history books but had no luck finding any useful information.

To the godswood they went, and the sun had already gone down so they needed the lanterns once more. Waiting for them above the crypts were Tyrion, Brienne, Podrick, and Bronn. Bran had been hastily introduced to them when he first arrived. He knew little about them…except for Lord Tyrion, who he had met in the past.

At dinner the first night he was back Bran was given the high seat of honor as lord of Winterfell. He had been impatient, saying this was not necessary, that he had many things to do, but both Meera and Sansa insisted that he eat a proper meal, his first in many days, as their supplies on the road home had been rationed to make them last. At the head table Sansa and Arya sat with him as did Ser Davos and Lord Tyrion. Bran was not sure if Tyrion was there because he was an ambassador or because he was still his sister's husband. During the meal he managed to find his way to Bran's side.

"I suppose you've heard what happened to me when I left Winterfell last time, my lord."

"Bran…just call me Bran."

"As you wish, Bran."

"Yes, I heard. My mother took you prisoner and my aunt wanted to kill you."

"Quite true. If not for Bronn I would have died in the Vale. Neither of us is well loved by the Vale men. They all think I killed Lord Arryn."

"Sansa said she now thinks Lord Baelish and my aunt had something to do with that."

"Yes, though it is uncertain. What is certain is that I am innocent of the charges. And of trying to harm you."

"I never thought you had anything to do with that."

"I wish your mother had felt the same way," Tyrion replied. "Much bloodshed could have been avoided."

"My sisters think your brother Ser Jaime pushed me out the window of that tower."

Tyrion sighed. "I know not…but it is possible. What do you remember?"

"Nothing…but sometimes I have dreams…nightmares…of falling, and a face…with golden hair, looking at me from the window as I fall."

"A possible clue, but not evidence he did it."

"Arya won't care," Bran said. "She wants him dead. Your sister as well."

"And they both want me dead."

"For killing your father?"

"Yes," Tyrion said, looking uncomfortable. "Ah, my cup is empty. I should…"

"Why did you kill him?"

"Not a subject I care to speak on at length. Suffice it to say he wanted me dead, and I acted in my own best interests. Good-day, my lord."

Now Tyrion walked beside him as Gendry carried him to the weirwood. "I would very much like to enter one of your visions," Tyrion said, not for the first time.

"It's not a good idea," Bran told him again. "Hodor was badly damaged by the things I did. Jon tried to speak to his mother, and I am certain my father heard us both. It is not a good idea to meddle with the past."

"Stop asking about that," Arya said in anger as she walked beside them.

"Yes," said Sansa. "Bran knows what is best. We must find the sword, that is the most important thing."

"Well," Tyrion said. "Why not start at the Wall?"

"The Wall?" Bran asked.

"Yes. The legends say Azor Ahai was the first commander of the Night's Watch. In fact, he created it. So, start there."

"How far back?"

"Eight thousand years," Meera said.

"Bloody hell," said Bronn. "He can see back that far? Anywhere you want?"

"Yes," Bran answered. "I think so."

"There's this girl, see," began Bronn. "Lived in my village, with big…"

"Enough," said Tyrion with a chuckle.

"I'm just wondering if she's still around," Bronn said.

"He is not a mummer at a carnival sideshow," Meera told them, getting angry. "Do all these people need to be here?"

"No, they don't," Arya said.

"Lord Tyrion can stay," Bran said.

Bronn, Pod and Brienne began to leave. "We'll be just outside, my lady," Brienne said.

"Thank you, but we will be fine," Sansa told her.

After they left Arya scowled. "She's like your shadow."

"She saved my life," Sansa shot back.

"I know, but I still don't trust her. She carries that Lannister sword, has that Lannister squire."

"She is not a Lannister," Tyrion reminded them. "Neither is Podrick. Him you can trust."

"I'm not sure I trust you, either," Arya said, to which Tyrion shrugged.

"Your mistrust will do you good…until it sours you to the whole world."

"Please stop arguing," Bran said. "We are here. Put me down."

Gendry placed him gently on the ground under the weirwood. A canvas sheet was already here from the last time, placed so Bran did not have to lie in the snow.

He reached up and touched the face of the tree, concentrating on the Wall, on Castle Black, on the beginnings of the Wall…long ago, so long ago, so very, very long ago…

…he was there, standing on the snow, and all before him was activity. Many huge men, giants he guessed, were pulling blocks of ice and huge rocks across the snow, and placing them to build a wall…the Wall.

Ban looked around and to one side he saw two men, one tall and dressed in furs and leathers, with a heavy beard, and a huge sword strapped to his back. The other man was shorter and slimmer, and was dark of skin, hair, and eye. He wore a black cape, black leathers and dark furs. For a moment Bran thought he was a crannogman, like Meera's people, but no, he was too tall. Maybe he was Dornish, though Bran was not sure as he had seen few Dornish people in his life.

And there was a sword, at his side, in a plain leather scabbard. The hilt Bran could see, but it was unadorned, plain, simple, nothing special at all. Maybe it was not Lightbringer.

He walked closer, trying to hear what they were speaking on. "Soon it will be high enough," said the bearded man, who Bran now thought must be his namesake, Brandon Stark, the Builder.

"It will never be high enough," the other man said, his use of the Common Tongue laced with an accent, from where Bran knew not. "We must continue to build it, high as we can, and ensure they never come south again."

"They are defeated my friend. It is time to rest."

"Never will I rest," said the man who Bran now thought must be Azor Ahai. "I will stand guard here for all my years to come."

"Alone?"

"If I must."

"No…I will find men to join you, to help you with this task. Maybe the people of the far north."

"They will not abandon their lands, their ways. We warned them they must come south, to escape the Walkers if they awake again."

"Aye, I know. Stubborn they are, like my people. But what can we do?"

"Nothing. The gods will it, so be it," said Azor Ahai. "They will be on the other side of the Wall for all the years to come."

"We should build gates in the Wall, under it, in case they change their minds."

Azor Ahai nodded. "Yes…and in case we must go north again to deal with the enemy."

"If you stay, you and your men will need homes, stores, wood for fire. I will build a castle for you."

"That would be good."

They were silent for a few moments, watching the giants. Then Azor Ahai spoke. "Where will you go?"

"Where she is. She waits in her village. Nearby are some hot springs. I am thinking to build a castle there as well…to raise a family, to help heal our lands from this terrible curse."

"A good plan. What of the south?"

Brandon the Builder grunted. "They are on their own, as they have left us. No help I want from them, ever."

"They were weak, afraid."

"That is no excuse for not helping us. If not for you and your sword, we would have been defeated, the world overrun forever."

Azor Ahai's hand went to his side and touched the hilt of his sword. "Someday they will come again. I fear it will happen long after my death. Someone will need use of the sword."

"Aye. Not to worry. We will make provisions. The people of the North must never forget. We will write the story, and make sure all know it, and pass it from father to son, mother to daughter, for all the ages to come."

Suddenly Bran felt hands on him, and a voice from far away. "Bran…Bran…come back…come back…come back."

It was Meera. He opened his eyes…and saw her above him. "What…why did you do that?"

"It's been over an hour…I was afraid you would get lost in there. Or meet someone who could harm you."

"An hour?" He sat up. All were looking at him, Meera, Sansa, Arya, Gendry, and Tyrion.

"A long time," said Tyrion. "What did you see?"

He told them all he saw and heard and when done Tyrion paced and spoke aloud his thoughts. "Yes…the sword, he had the sword…they made plans to keep it safe, to let people know…but what happened to those plans, what happened to the sword?"

"Time," said Bran.

"What do you mean?" Arya asked.

"Time went by," said Bran. "How much time, know one knows. But too much time."

"Yes," said Tyrion. "Truth became stories, stories became legends, and legends became myths. People forgot or began to doubt, and then to disbelieve. And so the sword was lost to us."

"I can go back and see if I can hear more."

"Not now," said Meera. "You are exhausted, and so are we. It is time for bed."

No one disagreed. But there would be no sleep yet. As they left the godswood word came that a body of men and a long line of supply wagons from the Wall had reached the castle's east gate. They hurried there and found Lord Beric Dondarrion with the Hound and Thoros of Myr and many more leading the supply wagons from Castle Black. Bran had briefly met them at Castle Black and knew the Hound from when he had visited Winterfell so long ago. As they came to the gate he told Gendry to place him on a large wooden bench that was nearby. Meera sat with him, close as always. He wanted to reach out and hold her hand, but knew that would not be appropriate.

As they climbed off their horses Sansa went to greet them, with Ser Davos who was already there. "Welcome back, my lords. It is good to see you."

"Thank you, my lady," said Lord Beric. "We were delayed by some snows or would have been here faster."

"What news of the army and King Jon?" Davos asked.

"Nothing," said Thoros. "We haven't seen them or hear anything of them for over seven days. Jon told us to press on and so we did."

"Was there a pursuit?" Davos asked. "Were they following him?"

"Not when we left," said Lord Beric. "He told us to press on, to get the supplies here. I am afraid we lost many men when the Wall fell. Half of the Vale men are gone, and many Northerners as well."

"How terrible," Sansa said. "But you are here and safe. Come, we must find you shelter and take care of these supplies. Ser Davos, Lord Tyrion, would you take care of this?"

They moved to the task at hand, Sansa giving orders as if she was still in command, and Bran did not mind, for he knew she knew what was best. Her eyes fell on him. "Sorry, I…"

"No, it's fine. You know what to do…I don't."

Then came an unpleasant incident. The Hound was standing beside his horse and then he looked past where Gendry was standing by Bran's bench. "Girl," the Hound said in his distinctive growl.

"Hello," said Arya to the Hound as she stepped beside where Gendry was standing. "I see you still live."

"Aye. You as well. Been busy?"

"Yes. The list grows smaller."

"Who?"

"Ilyn Payne, Walder Frey, and Meryn Trant."

He grunted. "Is my name still on it?"

"No."

"Because you thought I was dead?"

"No…I could have killed you when you asked, but I've decided you should live."

"Don't do me no favors."

"You killed Walder Frey?" Thoros asked in surprise, interrupting their talk.

Arya ignored his question. "Sansa, Bran, those two are not welcome in our home. Dondarrion and Thoros."

"Arya, they're on our side, they're helping us," Sansa said in admonishment.

"They tried to have Gendry killed! I told you this. If Ser Davos hadn't saved him he would be dead now!"

"Killed?" said Lord Beric. "We did not know of this, my lady."

"Liar," Arya spat. "You took the gold and knew she wanted to do him harm."

Gendry was shaking with anger Bran could see and his voice was full of it as he spoke. "I wanted to join you," he said. "I thought you were my brothers. And you sold me like a cow to that red woman!"

"She's dead," Lord Beric said.

"We know," Arya replied. "I only wish it had been me that killed her."

"She saved the army," the Hound told them. "Snow saw her sacrifice herself. Turned into a great ball of fire and killed many wights."

"Her good deeds do not wipe out her past," Davos said.

Sansa seemed lost, looking from one to the other. Bran knew he had to say something. "Lord Dondarrion, is what my sister says true? Did you sell Gendry to the red woman?"

"It is true, my lord."

"Then I must think on this matter. And decide what punishment is appropriate."

"Death," said Arya.

"No," Gendry quickly said. "We agreed not to kill them."

She sighed. "I know, but…"

"No, Arya…enough killing. We need every good fighter. I just want everyone to know what they did…and let them judge them in their hearts."

"We beg your forgiveness," said Thoros, seeming very contrite.

Gendry shook his head. "Never." Then he walked away and Arya followed him.

"I'm sorry," Sansa said to the two men.

"No…the lad is right," said Dondarrion, his voice quiet. "A foul thing we did and he is right not to forgive us. The Lord of Light told us…"

"Don't speak on that cursed god here," Davos said in anger. He scowled at Thoros. "No fires, no prayers."

"I believe Lord Stark is in command here," Thoros said.

Bran shook his head as Thoros looked at him. "I cannot stop you from praying in private. But no public prayers. No fires."

Thoros dipped his head. "As you command, my lord. Just know the Lord of Light is on your side. Only his power allowed us to escape from the wights."

"Let us see to matters of more importance," Tyrion said and then he and Davos began to deal with the supply wagons still coming in through the gates.

"Sandor," Sansa called out and the big man approached. "Could you help me with Bran?"

"I will carry him, my lady," Brienne said. She had been standing there the whole time, with her hand on her sword hilt, as had Bronn, who looked amused at all the doings.

"No, Brienne, that is fine," Sansa told her. "I need speak to Sandor on some things."

Brienne looked hurt but nodded her head. "As my lady wishes."

As the Hound came closer to him he glanced over at Bronn. "You with us now little man?" he asked.

"Aye," said Bronn. "Had enough of Cersei's dirty looks and knew my head would be gone soon."

"He helped Arya come home," Sansa said.

"That right?" asked the Hound. "Maybe you are of some use after all."

Bronn smiled. "You know I am. Seem to recall saving your life at the Blackwater."

"From one man," the Hound shot back. "Many more I killed all on my own."

"Aye, you did. Until you ran away."

The Hound let out a curse and started for Bronn. Brienne and Sansa stepped between them. "Stop it!' Sansa shouted, putting her hands on his chest, and looking him in his one good eye. Sansa was not as tall as the Hound, but tall enough she did not have to crane her neck to look at him. "No more fighting, no more arguing. The past is done. Bran, say something!"

"Yes, no more fighting. I need you all…we need you all. The past is forgiven."

The Hound was breathing hard, and glaring past Sansa at Bronn. "Aye, my lord," the Hound said and then he turned and picked Bran up.

Sansa walked toward the great keep and the Hound followed, with Meera as well. Up the stairs they went. The Hound was stronger than Gendry, though he seemed to limp on one leg a bit. He smelled foul, of sweat and horses, but Bran was too tired to care.

When they reached his chambers, the Hound placed Bran on his bed. "If that is all my lord, my lady," he said.

"No," Sansa said. "I need to speak to you. I want an honest answer."

"Aye. What is it?"

"Lord Royce…he died?"

"He did, with many of his men."

"Did he get my letter before he died?"

"So I heard," the Hound said. "I don't know what it said but he was upset."

"It was about Lord Baelish."

"Littlefinger whoremaster," the Hound growled. "He still lives?"

"For now. He is in the dungeons."

"Hang him and be done with it," the Hound said.

"The Vale men…we need them." Bran told him.

"Half are dead, the rest with your brother," the Hound replied and what he said next sent shivers of fear up Bran's spine. "And they might all be dead now as well if the wights caught up to them."

* * *

 **The Kingsroad – Jon**

The gods were smiling on them, many men said, for the first few days of the retreat were done with no enemy at their back. On top of that the weather held good, with clear blue skies, and no snow or rains. The cold was still there, but all were used to that by now. Jon Snow knew they could thank the gods for the weather, but not for stalling the enemy's pursuit. Only one person could they thank for that, Melisandre.

Jon knew her name would be cursed in many places, for she had done terrible things. But he would not be one of them who cursed her. He promised to erase the past for her, but that would be hard to do. Still, he and the whole army owed her that much. In the early days of the retreat he went around and listened to the men by their nightly fires, and spoke on what happened and many agreed she had saved them. It might not be enough but it was a beginning.

On the second day he ordered the supply column to make all speed for Winterfell before any heavy snows came. They took as many supplies as they could from the wagons and each man filled his backpack with hard bread and salted meat and fish. Every cavalry horse was also laden with extra rations, and then Jon bid goodbye to the supply train, with Dondarrion, Thoros, and the Hound leading it.

"If you find my brother on the road south look after him for me."

"Aye, my King," said Dondarrion, and then they were gone.

It was lucky they sent them, for the snows did return, and three days later, about half way to Winterfell, they were struggling through drifts on the Kingsroad so bad they only made six miles that day before Jon ordered the night camp built before darkness came. They formed a circle, with the Kingsroad bisecting the camp, and built wooden barriers all around them, though heavier ones were placed facing north.

And that night the wights returned.

It was a small probing attack at first, about fifty wights, coming at the northern barrier, and many fire arrows sent them in retreat. The men cheered but Jon and the other leaders did not.

"They will be back," Lord Manderly said.

"And in greater numbers," Lord Glover predicted, accurately, as the next night several hundred tried their wooden barriers before retreating.

And then the retreat slowed to a crawl, six miles one day, five the next, and then, still a third of the way left to Winterfell, they were buried under mountains of snow.

"It's not natural," Tormund said as they tried to dig up the snow for the horses to get at any grass underneath. "Never have I seen snows like this in my life."

"Never?" Jon asked.

"Never…not even in the deepest winter when I was a boy. Its them that bring the snow and cold. Soon they will be on us again."

That night they attacked in great numbers, thousands of wights coming at them out of the snow and darkness, and it made their hearts quail to see so many of their fallen brothers among them, men sporting sigils of the many houses of the North, and especially of the Vale.

The wooden barriers held for while, and then the one on the east flank gave in under a murderous assault, and Jon and the rest waded into the fight, hand to hand combat lasting for almost half an hour before the wights finally retreated.

"Burn the dead," Jon commanded, and even as they gathered the bodies some came back to life with blue eyes and had to be burnt where they lay after being knocked down again.

Lord Glover took a wound to his right leg in the fight and the maesters at the healing tents feared he would lose it. Many others had bad wounds, and more men would die before morning.

"It is as I feared," Lord Glover said in pain from his cot in the healing tent. "We will be slaughtered like cattle out here."

"Not while we still have steel in our hands," Jon said.

Outside the tent Tormund was waiting. "Have you noticed no Walkers have shown themselves yet?"

"Aye, I have." In all the attacks they had not yet seen a White Walker, even from afar.

"They must be out there," Tormund said. "Who is controlling them if not the Walkers?"

"They must be…and where are all the dead coming from? The red woman killed so many."

"Not enough it seems. Remember how many we saw at Hardhome? And how many more fell and rose again? Maybe they held some of those back from the fight at the Wall."

"Maybe," Jon said but he had no answers.

The next morning the sun shone bright in a cloudless sky. "We must break camp and move south," Jon commanded. The weary men moved to their tasks, and in an hour they were moving again in the deep snow.

It was a struggle just to move a hundred feet. Horses were collapsing from hunger and the cold, and more men were burdened with the bags of food the horses had been carrying. Frostbite was becoming more common, and many a man had blackened fingers, toes, and nose tips. The wounded were placed in wagons, which many men had to push through the deepest snow. By the time late afternoon came they had barely moved five miles.

Jon was just giving the order to make camp when a sudden cold fell across the army, and from the west side of the Kingsroad from the thick forests came two scouts, running as fast as they could in the snow, shouting that the demons were coming. Not far behind them a mass of wights came, running on top of the snow as if it was no obstacle at all.

The army was strung out, with different parts hundreds of feet apart. The nearby commanders shouted for the men to face west and many did so, just in time, but they had no wooden barriers to slow or stop the wights. Fire arrows were not prepared for they had not made any fires yet. It would be hand to hand combat.

"Break open the oil casks!" Jon shouted. "Make fires. Quick!" As he gave the command he and Tormund and many more ran to the west side with weapons drawn to meet the wight attack.

As they slew wights and as men died, behind him blazing fires rose and then fire arrows and torches turned the tide, bringing down many wights and saving the position. But during the struggle Jon had no news of the other parts of the army, and only now came a messenger.

"Lord Glover is dead!" he shouted. "Lord Manderly and Lady Mormont's men are surrounded in the center. The Vale cavalry in the rear has been overwhelmed!"

Jon looked around him, at the many wounded and dead, at the snow turning red. He had maybe two thousand men and women here, mainly free folk and Northmen. "Tormund, hold this position, at all costs" Jon commanded. "NORTHMEN! WITH ME!"

A great shout arose and every Northman screamed his battle cry and followed Jon to the north, where a wall of wights was pressing their comrades. They hit them from behind and slew many, cutting a hole through their lines to the besieged. And then they all retreated again, back to where the free folk held the line. The wights backed away for the time, and Jon gave the order for the wooden barriers to be erected.

"Thank you," Lord Manderly said when they had time to talk. "For our lives."

"We are not out of this yet," said Lady Mormont. For the first time Jon saw fear on her face. "My King…what will we do?"

Jon had no answer, and she knew it by his look and silence. And then as the sun was about to set behind a range of low hills to the west, the wights attacked again, and now they surrounded what was left of the army, maybe three thousand men and women, and in the ranks of the enemy were many Vale men, freshly dead, and now arisen with blue eyes.

And there he was, the Night King, on his pale horse, with four of his brethren, off to the east side of the road, by the tree line. "I must kill him," Jon said and they all saw who he was looking at, for the sides of the road were higher than the center where they stood.

"Madness," said Lord Manderly.

"It's our only hope."

"He has a horse, he will flee from you," Tormund said.

"A horse!" Lady Mormont shouted. "A horse for our King!"

One was brought, a fine animal, black, and still strong looking. Jon climbed on its back. "Make a hole in their ranks," he commanded as he pulled out Longclaw.

"You will die," Lord Manderly said, his eyes filled with emotion.

"Aye…but if I take him with me it will be worth it."

"Good luck," Lady Mormont said, smiling at him.

"Let the gods make it so," Jon replied. And then Tormund was beside him on a horse. "What are you doing?"

"You didn't think I'd let you go all by yourself?"

Jon grinned and then he shouted to the ranks. "ALL RANKS! ATTACK EAST!"

He pointed Longclaw, the sun with its dying rays hitting the sword, reflecting the last light maybe of the world before the endless darkness came, and Jon prepared to die once more.

And then came a sound so unnatural that the world seemed to stop. A screech, like a rusty door hinge, or a seagull at a seaport, coming from the sky, and then all eyes turned to the south…and in the dying sunlight they saw something coming…three somethings, winged beasts…

Dragons!

Down they came, flying over the ranks, and even the wights looked up, and Jon swore later he saw pure astonishment on many a hideous face. Three dragons, one green, one white, and one pure black, and on the black one's back was a woman, with long blond hair streaming back, and Jon knew who she was…family.

"Daenerys Targaryen!" he shouted, as the dragons wheeled back and then came long gouts of flame from all three, and on all sides the ranks of the wights were decimated by dragon fire…but not the Night King, and his companions, who turned and fled into the forest.

But Jon saw no more, as hands reached for him. "DOWN! GET DOWN! Lord Manderly shouted in a bellowing voce, and Jon and Tormund were pulled from their horses and lay flat on the ground with the rest of the army as flames leaped into the air all around them. The heat was searing, and many a man felt warm for the first time in a long time.

And then it was over. What few wights that had survived fled. As the men went about dispatching any with signs of life in them, the three dragons landed on the south side of the camp, beyond the strip of blackened snow and charred wights bodies. Jon walked out toward them, with Tormund and Lord Manderly and Lady Mormont behind him.

Daenerys Targaryen climbed off her dragon and stood in front of all three dragons. She was strikingly beautiful, so much so that Jon found he could not speak at first.

"Hello," she said in a pleasant voice. "I am Daenerys Targaryen."

And then Jon knew what he had to do. He got down on one knee. "Your Grace," he said. "I am Jon Snow."

Behind him he heard Lord Manderly grunt and Lady Mormont gave a small gasp. Tormund laughed. "Knee benders," he said in a scoffing tone.

"Rise…King Jon."

He stood. "Thank you, for our lives."

"You are welcome. I know not if I should return the gesture and bend the knee to you."

"No need. You are our Queen, the Queen of all Westeros. I am just called the King in the North."

"An independent North!" Lord Manderly said.

Jon sighed, knowing this was trouble to come. "That has not been discussed yet, my Queen."

"I see. I believe there is much we have to talk on. But first, I must tell you I know who you truly are."

Jon felt a sudden unease as Tormund laughed. "He is Jon Snow. Who else would he be?"

"My nephew," Daenerys said and Tormund laughed again.

"How can that be?" Lord Manderly asked.

"What does she speak of, my King?" Lady Mormont asked soon after.

Jon turned to look at them. "She speaks the truth I am afraid. I only found out myself a short time ago. I am a Targaryen…my father was her brother Rhaegar."

"Gods," said Lord Manderly. "But…your father was Ned Stark. I know, I saw him bring you home from Dorne!"

"Aye, he did…after my mother Lyanna, his sister, died giving birth to me."

"Lyanna Stark was your mother?" asked Lady Mormont.

"Yes," Jon said. "My mother was Lord Stark's sister. My father was Rhaegar Targaryen."

"Gods," said Lord Manderly. "Why did Ned lie to everyone? Why…oh, yes. Robert."

"Aye."

"You could have told us," Tormund said, looking hurt.

"I am telling you now. I scarce believe it myself."

"There is only one way to know if it is true," Daenerys said and Jon turned back to her. "Come…and touch a dragon."

Now many in the army were watching the scene in the growing twilight. Jon hesitated and Tormund growled. "If it eats him woman I am going to kill you and those beasts!"

Instead of being angry she laughed lightly. "Oh, you are a fierce one. Not to worry, your King will be safe."

"He's not my King! He's my friend!"

"A long story," Jon said to her questioning look. With small steps he approached the dragons.

"Not the black one," Daenerys said. "He is mind to ride. You must pick another for you to ride."

"Ride? I can't ride a dragon!" Jon said in astonishment.

"Not yet. The one you touch will be the one you bond with."

"Then it had best be the white one. Does it have a name?"

"He is named Viserion, for my brother Viserys. Why him?"

"I have some affection for white animals."

"They are more than animals…go on…touch him."

"If I am not a Targaryen what will happen?"

"He will turn away from you…I hope."

"You hope?"

"Touch him."

Jon was now in front of the white dragon and could see Viserion was not all white, but had gold coloring in places. The large head was rising up and the large golden colored eyes were looking at him. His teeth were bared slightly and Jon could see they were shiny black. Heat came off the beast, and all around the dragons the snow was melting and steam was rising from all three.

As Jon got closer Viserion seemed to calm himself and lowered his head. Jon reached up…and touched the snout…and Viserion seemed to almost purr.

"Then it is true…you are a Targaryen!" the Queen said in excitement. She reached out and took him by the hand and then in front of the surviving soldiers she raised their hands together and the whole army gave a long lusty cheer.

"Is it over?" she asked as the army cheered them. "Are the wights and White Walkers all dead?"

"No…not the leaders," he told her. "While they live, it will go on."

* * *

 _Author's Note: Dear readers, that's about as far as I want to take the story until we see the new season next year. There will be one more chapter to tie up some loose ends and then that will be it for now._


	11. Chapter 11

**Game of Thrones Season 7 Chapter 11**

 _Author's Note: Apologies for the delays with this chapter. My university had midterms so I had over three hundred exams from the nine classes I teach to correct. Also I moved to a new apartment so I have been quite busy. Too busy, in fact, to finish this chapter the way I wanted. The two parts it has took on a life of their own and grew quite large, and I will need one or two more chapters to finish the tale as I want it to be. I decided to put this part out now for those waiting for the story as I will not have time to get back to the story until next week. Thank you for your patience and kind (mostly) reviews._

 **Winterfell – Tyrion**

The dragons came out of the sky while they were cleaning up the aftermath of the worst snowstorm Tyrion Lannister had ever seen. Of course, spending most of his life in the south he had not seen many snows, so that was not saying much. But even the greybeards who lived in Winterfell said the snowfall was one of the heaviest they had ever seen. Tyrion was standing in knee deep snow in the village outside Winterfell's east gate, not actually shoveling the snow out of the road leading to the Kingsroad, but lending moral support to those who were, including Bronn, Podrick, and the Hound.

"Come on, put your backs into it," he said, after he took another drink of wine from a nearly empty skin he carried.

The Hound turned and glared at him. "Little man, pick up a shovel and put _your_ back into it or at least stop jawing at us and we'll be done faster."

"My back aches enough already," Tyrion replied. "By the way Clegane, it seems I must need remind you that your family is bannermen to mine, so calling me 'my lord' would be appropriate."

"I gave up all that ass kissing shit when I left King's Landing," the Hound replied in his rough growl as he dug deep into the snow.

"And don't forget your brother is Lord Lannister now, not you," Bronn said as he heaved a shovel full of snow to the left side. "So we don't have to call you shit."

"Yes, yes, very well," Tyrion said. "But I am still a Lannister and…"

"You fled," Bronn reminded him. "And now serve another master."

"Our Queen she is," Podrick said. "Lord Tyrion is her Hand. So we should call him lord. Lord Hand."

"Thank you, Pod. At least someone still has some loyalty."

"If I have to have call someone lord or king high and mighty I think I will swear my sword to the Starks," the Hound told them. "That Jon Snow has balls."

"It's your balls you're thinking with," Bronn said. "I've seen the way you look at Lady Stark."

The Hound held his shovel like he was going to hit Bronn and glared at him. "Say one more word and I'll forget my promise to Lord Stark not to kill you."

"Now, now," Tyrion said. "We mustn't fight each other, lads. Enough enemies will soon be coming down that road for us to work out our blood lust on."

"They ain't alive," Bronn said. "How we supposed to kill them?"

"Fire," Pod said. "When I was at Castle Black Jon Snow said we have to burn them. Cut their legs out from under them and then burn them. Fire arrows and oil and torches."

"All prepared already," Tyrion said. "I think Bronn's question is more of a philosophical one. How do you kill that which is already dead?"

"You don't kill them," the Hound said. "You destroy them. You…"

But he had no time to say anything else. A screech rent the air, and all eyes turned skyward. "It's her," said Tyrion as he spotted the dragons flying up the Kingsroad from the south. "She has come at last."

Everyone involved in snow clearing ran back towards the gates of the castle with panicked looks on their faces. "Calm down!" Tyrion shouted. "She will not harm you."

"Dragons," the Hound said, his face paling. "I'll be inside."

"What if she decides to land in there?" Bronn said with a grin, as the dragons flew over the castle in a circle, the Queen on the largest one, black Drogon, and someone was with her…someone…no, not him.

The Hound hesitated and then gave Bronn a dirty look. "Someday I will find out what you fear most, little man."

"The only thing I fear is a place with no women or wine…so, nothing really."

The dragons had circled once more and now Sansa, Ser Davos, Arya, Gendry, and Brienne joined them out in the town as the dragons came in for a landing at the edge of the town where it met the Kingsroad. Tyrion was still in awe of the great beasts despite spending time with them in the past. But the rest had never seen a dragon before, and the looks on their faces told him they were also in awe. They stood in stunned silence, mouths agape, eyes wide, and he imaged he must have looked the same the first time he saw one flying over that small boat he and Ser Jorah had sailed in to Meereen. Now behind him in the gateway and on the walls above were hundreds of people, all staring in awe.

But Tyrion had no eyes for the dragons now, or his Queen. His eyes were on the man with her, who was now unmistakably his brother Jaime.

Bronn looked over at Tyrion. "This is going to be trouble."

"Stay by my side no matter what," Tyrion quietly told him.

"Aye, not to worry."

"What the fuck is he doing with her?" the Hound asked and Tyrion wondered the same thing.

"The Kingslayer," Arya said in a low voice, full of hatred.

"No," Sansa said. "Leave it be, please."

"For now," her sister replied.

Tyrion got down on one knee and the rest followed, even the Stark girls and Davos, who Tyrion believed to be loyal to King Jon.

"My Queen, welcome to Winterfell," Tyrion said as they approached.

"Arise," she said and everyone stood. "Lord Tyrion, it is good to see you again."

"And you my Queen." And then he stared at his brother who was looking at him with his eyes hard and full of anger. "Jaime."

"Tyrion," he said curtly. "I believe we have much to…discuss."

Dany looked from one to the other. "That can wait. Lord Tyrion, I believe introductions are in order."

"Forgive me, my Queen. May I present Lady Sansa Stark and her sister Lady Arya. Lord Brandon Stark would be here but the boy is…well, he is…"

"A cripple," Bronn said and the Stark girls gave him dirty looks. "Well, he is, ain't he?"

"Our brother is unable to walk, Your Grace," Sansa said.

"Because of him," Arya added, looking at Jaime.

The Queen sighed. "I know there has been much bad blood between your families. I am here to settle all this and to help defend Winterfell from the White Walkers. What news of them?"

"They broke through the Wall and are on their way here," Davos told her. "I am Ser Davos, Your Grace, once Hand to the late King Stannis…and now advisor to another King."

"Yes. I see. And where is King Jon Snow?" she asked.

"We don't know," Tyrion told her. He quickly explained the situation.

"Then I must go at once," she said. "I would ask for food for my dragons. We have flown non-stop since morning from Moat Cailin. Once they are fed I must go in search of King Jon and his men."

Soon a few dead goats and a sheep were brought for her beasts, which scorched the meat and fed with gusto. As this went on the Queen and Jaime came inside and all the people of Winterfell and the remaining Vale men got down on their knees. She told them to rise, and then Sansa told everyone to go about their duties.

"Come, Your Grace," Sansa said. "We can take refreshment in the great hall while I send for my brother." She turned to the blacksmith. "Gendry, could you get Bran?"

"Yes, my lady," the big lad said but before he could move Jaime looked at him and Arya.

"You did well to escape from the city and avoid our attempts to find you," he said and then his eyes moved to Bronn. "With your help?"

"Aye. Figured your sister wanted my head next."

"Maybe so," Jaime replied.

As Gendry walked off, Arya pointed to Jaime, and then looked at the Queen. "He is not welcome here."

"I understand you have issues with Lord Jaime," Dany said. "But I have reached an accord with the Lannisters. We are now allies in the common fight against the great enemy."

"My sister approves?" Tyrion asked.

Jaime stared at him. "She's under arrest."

Tyrion was too stunned to react, and Brienne spoke first. "Under arrest? By whose order?"

"Mine," Jaime said, and now his demeanor changed, somehow softened a bit, as he looked at Brienne. "She...she ordered the city destroyed. She…killed so many. Thousands are dead. The Tyrells." His eyes moved back to Tyrion. "Lancel and Uncle Kevan as well."

"I heard. Where is Cersei now?"

"On her way to King's Landing," the Queen told him.

"For a waiting rope?" Tyrion asked.

"For a trial," Dany said.

Sansa seemed embarrassed by all this talk. "Come inside everyone…yes, Lord Jaime as well. I will not have it said a Stark refused food and drink to anyone, even an enemy."

A tense hour passed, as they sat in the great hall and ate a light meal and had drinks. The Queen did most of the talking, speaking at length of what was happening, but most everyone else was silent, and the tension was thick, with many unresolved issues. Tyrion sat on the right side of the Queen, as her Hand, and when Bran came he sat by the Queen's left side, as Lord of Winterfell. Sansa said they should have a proper feast but the Queen had no time.

She stood and so did the rest. "I must find Jon Snow," she said. "Lord Jaime, stay here. In combat I am better off alone on Drogon."

Jaime looked at the rest. "I may be a head shorter when you come back."

Sansa stared at him, anger in her eyes and on her words. "You have eaten under our roof and have guest right and as such we will not harm you. A tradition your father and Walder Frey seemed to have forgotten when they killed our mother and brother and so many more."

Jaime sighed. "That was their doing, not mine. Your mother freed me to help find you and return you and your sister to her. I failed her, but not without trying. You may notice I am short a hand, courtesy of Roose Bolton's scum. The same scum who I saved Brienne from when they wanted to rape and kill her. I killed the demon named Qyburn and I had my sister arrested for her crimes against the realm. Yet, my name is still Lannister. As a such am I to be tainted with the crimes of my father and sister?"

"No," Arya said. "Your crimes are all your own."

"There is no time for this," the Queen said in a stern voice. "I must go."

Without another word she turned and left the hall and they all followed, Bran in Gendry's arms. When he saw the dragons Bran was full of delight. "I would like to fly one some day."

"Perhaps," the Queen said with a smile, and then in moments she mounted Drogon and she and her dragons were gone north up the Kingsroad. A silence lingered and then all eyes turned to Jaime. Arya was the first to speak. "I don't care about guest right, Sansa. I say we throw him in the dungeons with Baelish."

"So that's where Littlefinger is," Jaime said.

Brienne stood by Jaime's side. "He is our ally now."

Sansa looked at both of them with despair, unsure by her look what to do, so Tyrion came to her rescue. "I believe if anyone deserves any vengeance against my brother it is the Queen above all. Yet she seems to have trusted him enough to fly with him at her back. I believe if she trusts him, so can we."

"Your words mean nothing here," Arya said to Tyrion.

"I am the Hand of the Queen," Tyrion retorted.

"And Bran is Lord of Winterfell," Arya shot back. "His word is law here." She turned to her brother. "Bran, did this man push you from the tower that day?"

"I…I don't know," Bran said.

"Well?" Arya said next, glaring at Jaime. "Did you do it?"

"Am I on trial?" he asked. "I suppose so. Then I shall wait for the Queen's return before answering any accusations."

"Very well," Sansa said quickly, trying to calm everyone down. "He does have guest right…but we cannot trust him. So…put him in a room, with guards on his door. When the Queen and Jon return then we will decide what to do. Do you agree…my lord?"

"Yes," said Bran.

From a look and nod from Sansa, the Hound and Bronn took out their swords and held them on Jaime. "Your sword, my lord," Bronn said to Jaime.

"I suppose it could be worse," Jaime said as he awkwardly unbuckled his sword belt and handed it to Bronn. Brienne had her hand on her sword hilt, and looked ready to fight but Jaime shook his head. "No. I am not worth it."

"You are," she replied, with that fierce glow on her face Tyrion had seen a few times when she thought she was in the right. "They don't know you like I do."

"It's too late. I came here to face my demons and have done with it all." Then his eyes fell on Tyrion. "It is time to talk."

"Yes, quite so."

They took him to an old tower, a room high up, so that by the time they reached the top, Tyrion's short legs were on fire. The room had a bed, a table and a few chairs, a small chamber pot, and a barred window. Two tallow candles on the table would do for light. There was a hearth, now empty, and a thick fur on the bed.

"I'll get some wood," the Hound said.

"And some wine," Tyrion said, his wine skin now empty, and the Hound nodded as he went out the door. Two Winterfell guards stood outside the door now. Jaime sat on the bed while Tyrion took a chair and Bronn leaned against the wall by the door.

"Back together again, I see," Jaime said to the two of them.

"Like old times," Bronn said. "Except for the cold."

"Bronn tells me you two had quite the adventure yourselves in Dorne," Tyrion said to his brother.

"Yes…quite," Jaime replied and then his face clouded over. "Until Myrcella died… poisoned."

"Who did it?" Tyrion asked, wanting to get to the bottom of this now before Jaime and he had to discuss the other thing.

"I am sure it was Ellaria Sand," Jaime said, now getting mad. "She kissed Myrcella before we boarded the ship and not a short time later she was dead. I saw the Dornish whore when I negotiated with the Queen. It took all my willpower not to pull my sword out and cut her down."

Now Tyrion began to get angry as well. "When I was in Meereen I heard of Myrcella's death, but not who killed her. This Ellaria Sand calls herself my ally, yet she had my niece killed. Does the Queen know our ally killed Myrcella?"

"No, at least I did not tell her," Jaime replied. "I want the Dornish whore's blood, Tyrion. I want her to scream and watch the light leave her eyes."

"At least we can agree on that much," Tyrion said. "And Tommen? What happened there?"

Jaime sighed heavily. "Cersei. Damn her to hell. She destroyed the sept, with Tommen's wife inside. He loved her...and when he knew she was gone he jumped from the Red Keep."

"Gods," Tyrion said, wishing the Hound would get back soon for he needed that wine. "Cersei…tell me the rest."

So Jaime spoke, on all that had happened since Bronn left. "If I had known what she and Qyburn would do I would have stopped them," Jaime said when he came to how the city was destroyed "At least Qyburn is dead now. I killed him myself. Ser Gregor is finally dead as well. Lord Tarly took his head off, and we burned his body to make sure he stayed dead."

"Clegane is finally dead?" Bronn asked, just as the Hound came back with an armload of wood and a wine skin in hand.

"What's this?" the Hound asked as he dropped the wood by the hearth.

"Your brother is dead," Jaime told him

"Aye, and has been for a long time now."

"No, now he is really dead," Tyrion said. "Lord Tarly cut his head off and Jaime burned his body."

The Hound was quiet for a moment and then nodded once. "Aye…good riddance." Then he handed the wine skin to Bronn and left them.

Bronn took a drink and handed it to Tyrion. "Suppose he'll have to find someone else to dream about killing now." Bronn said. Then as he bent to the wood to start a fire he suddenly looked worried. "Hope it ain't me."

"Just stay off his bad side," Tyrion advised as he wiped away a bit of wine that had dribbled on his chin. He offered the wine to Jaime but he refused. "Bronn, when the fire is lit, please leave us. I need speak to my brother alone."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Jaime won't kill me."

"I'm not so sure about that," Jaime said.

"I am sure," Tyrion replied. "We are all that is left of our family, Jaime. And if you want to keep your head, you will need me to convince the Queen."

"I have already done that," Jaime told him. "The price was my exile. And Cersei's head."

Bronn grunted. "You're daft if you think she'll let you run off a free man."

"She promised," Jaime said. "We signed papers, in front of many witnesses."

Tyrion sighed. "The law and such agreements mean little these days. Our father and sister saw to that. Bronn is right. They can change their minds at any time. Let us also not forget the Stark's want some vengeance for what they believe you did to Bran. Bronn, leave us, please."

Bronn finished lighting the fire and left without another word and then Jaime asked what Tyrion had been expecting.

"Why did you kill our father?"

"Many reason," Tyrion replied. "All good. But mostly because Father had been wanting me dead since I was born. He knew I had nothing to do with Joffrey's death yet he held that mockery of a trial."

"I know," Jamie said, his voice full of regret. "He did it all to trap me, to make me promise to resign from the Kingsguard and become Lord Lannister when he died. Well, he got his wish, but not the way he had hoped. You saw to all that."

"What was I supposed to do? Lie down and take it?"

"No," Jaime replied, getting angry again. "You were supposed to say you were guilty and take the black and all would have been done with!"

"But I wasn't guilty…you know that, don't you?"

"I do. But who really killed Joffrey? Was it Sansa?"

"No…but she was tricked into playing a role in the act. That necklace she was wearing had poison in it, as we learned at the trial. That much was true."

"So she did put the poison in the wine!"

"No…Sansa believes it was Olenna Tyrell."

"What? That old crone? But why? Her granddaughter was about to be Queen, for gods' sake!"

"Ah, yes…but she did not want Joffrey as her granddaughter's husband. I believe I know why. Joffrey's cruel streak was known to all, including the Tyrells. And then there was nice, sweet Tommen, who loved his cats, and had not a mean bone in his body. So, why suffer Joffrey for a husband, for a king, when Tommen would do much better."

"Margaery knew?"

"No…never, I am sure. You saw her face at the wedding. That was not acting."

"Who gave Sansa the necklace? Was it Ser Dontos?"

"Yes," Tyrion told him. "And Baelish gave it to him."

Jaime stared at him and barely said the word. "Baelish?"

"Yes," Tyrion said and then his mind exploded with an idea, a way to rid himself of one of his many problems. He spoke quickly. "He planned it all, with the crone. He spirited Sansa away to the Vale in a ship, after his men killed Ser Dontos. He is in love with Sansa, and would do anything for her."

"In love? She is a child."

"As I said before I was forced to marry her. Not a child anymore…not after what Ramsey Bolton did to her."

"What did he do?"

"He raped her, repeatedly, so I have heard from the whispers of the good people of Winterfell who survived the Bolton rule. Ramsey had his father killed, and then his father's wife and newborn son. As for what he did to Sansa…his own wife…a monster he was, and Baelish knew it even when he arranged the marriage. Baelish has done much more. It was he who planted the idea that I tried to harm Bran Stark in Lord and Lady Stark's heads, which is how our war started."

Now Jaime was truly shocked. "But…how do you know this?"

"Varys was there when he told them. Theon Greyjoy also heard it from Lady Stark."

Jaime stood from the bed. "He must die!"

"Agreed…but it is complicated."

"No, it isn't. Why is he still living?"

"Politics. We need the Vale men, and Baelish is well loved by the Lord of the Vale. Of course, once Lord Arryn hears Baelish may have had something to do with his mother's death…"

"What? Another death on his head? This castle is full of Vale men. Why have they not acted? Why haven't the Starks?"

"Again, politics. Sansa fears the reaction of the realm if she has him killed without a fair hearing."

"You people. Thinking too much, when acting is what is needed!"

"Like you acted when you shoved Bran Stark out that window?"

Jaime sat again and hung his head low, all the fire going out of him. "Stupid," he said in a low voice. "He saw us, Cersei and I…we were…"

"I can guess."

"So…I pushed him."

Tyrion sighed. "So it is true. Who paid the footpad with the dagger?"

"Not Cersei or I, that is certain."

"No, I am sure it was not you. Perhaps one mystery we may never solve. As for the rest, we must not ever tell anyone."

"They suspect," Jaime said. "What does he remember?"

"Little. I heard he dreams sometimes of the tower and a man with golden hair. But that would mean little if you had a fair hearing. Which you won't get here for certain."

"I wish I could go back to that day and stop myself," Jaime said. "All our misery came from that one act."

"No," Tyrion said. "You are not to blame for the rest. Only one man can take blame for this war and for making us weak in our hour of need. He also killed your son. And he is in a dungeon below."

Jaime looked at Tyrion with a fierce light in his eyes. "He must die."

"Yes," Tyrion said and then he reached on his belt for his dagger he always carried and he took it off and handed it to Jaime hilt first.

Jaime took it with his good hand and held the blade out towards Tyrion. For a moment Tyrion thought he would stab him and Jaime knew he thought that.

"No, little brother, I won't kill you," Jaime said. "I understand why you did what you did. It doesn't mean I forgive you. If I survive what is to come, we may never even speak again. But for now we will have peace. Find a way to get me to Baelish. I will do the rest."

"They won't like it."

"So be it. If it is my last act I will die knowing at least I have done one good thing in this world."

* * *

 **The Goldroad – Cersei**

Cersei's first thought after being arrested by her brother's order was to kill herself. Slice open her wrists, or hang herself somehow, or maybe take some poison. She would not give them the satisfaction of watching her be humiliated again in that disgusting city she loathed with every fiber of her being. She would also cheat the prophecy made by the witch women outside of Lannisport when she was a girl. All her children had died, that much was true, but Cersei would not be pulled down by someone younger and more beautiful. Daenerys Targaryen would not have her final victory be told in Cersei's blood.

Wanting to kill herself was one thing but actually doing it was another. The will was there, but not the opportunity. It seemed as if Lord Lewyn knew what she had in mind for she was never left alone from the time she was arrested. No sharp utensils was she given for her meals, only a wooden spoon for the soup and porridge they gave her. Her cup was made of wood as well, fired so hard she could not break it. Eyes were on her always and two women, two old septas, stayed in the room with her when night came. She hated septas and did not even bother trying to engage the fanatics in conversation, to win them to her side, for she knew it would do no good.

Three days passed before the roads east to the capital were clear enough to travel. Fifty men escorted the sleigh she was carried in. A teamster drove the sleigh while two strong knights and Lord Lewyn himself rode with her.

When Cersei saw him about to join her in the sleigh it was the first time she had seen him since her arrest. She gave him a withering stare. "This is how you repay my house after all your years of loyalty?"

"My lady, I am still loyal to your house. To your brother at least, if not you."

"I still don't believe Jaime ordered this. You are being tricked, you fool."

"We shall have plenty of time to discuss this on the way."

Time they had, for the journey was slow, the road east still not clear everywhere, and on occasion the men had to get off their horses, pull out shovels from the back of one of the supply wagons, and dig the way forward. Cersei cared not, for the longer they spent, the more time she would have to plan somehow to escape, either by killing herself or by running away. But again they kept a sharp eye on her, and not for a moment was she left alone.

Conversation with Lord Lewyn was lacking, for she wanted little to do with this traitor and he was a dull man to begin with. He knew nothing about anything she was interested in anyway, so the topics they had to discuss were few.

The second day they came upon the villages the dragon fire had destroyed. The snow was less deep here, the lower layers melted by dragon fire. In the village and on the sides of the road were the remains of many men, mostly charred bones, and scorched armor. One burnt body was so huge it could only be Gregor Clegane, as had been reported. He had no head, but she knew that armor he wore, and knew he was dead. They searched a bit at her request, but none of the remains she could say were Qyburn. But by now she felt he must be dead. Jaime wanted to kill him, and must have done so.

After three more cold dreary days on the road they came to the upper Blackwater River. The river was flowing well, with no ice, so Lord Lewyn decided Cersei would take the rest of the journey downstream by river barge. A large one was located nearby, with a boatsman who knew the river well. He would man the tiller, and Cersei, Lord Lewyn, the two knights, and ten men to serve as rowers climbed on board.

The fools did not know it but they had made it easy for her to kill herself now. Cersei sat in the middle of the barge, with men around her wearing armor, all of them except the knights and Lord Lewyn and helmsman pulling on the oars, and she knew not one would risk their lives to save a woman who would soon be dead anyway.

Her hands had never been bound so it made it all the easier. She just suddenly stood and took two steps and before anyone could react she had leaped between two rowers off the barge's right side into the river.

The shock of the cold water paralyzed her, making her heart seem to seize, her muscles contract, the cold water seeming to shear away her flesh and wrap itself around her bones, like a knife scraping it all away, making it impossible for her to move, and she was glad, for it was time to die. She felt herself suddenly rising up, her body's natural buoyancy lifting her, so she opened her mouth to swallow some water…but found she could not breathe it in. Something inside her made her block the water from her throat, and it clamped tight even as the last bit of air she had started to disappear.

And then came pain as her hair seemed to be pulled from its roots, a hand dragging her from the water, into the air, and she gasped and filled her lungs, and then she was hauled up by shouting men and deposited on the bottom of the barge.

"Gods!" Lord Lewyn gasped, breathing heavily, and Cersei saw his whole right arm and shoulder were soaking wet. It was he who had saved her. "You cannot escape," he said. "The cold will kill you."

Through chattering teeth she replied. "It was not my intention of escaping."

He stared at her. "You fear what they will do to you in the city."

"Yes! I will not suffer that torment again!"

"I understand, my lady. But understand that I cannot let you do that."

"My lord," one knight said. "We must get her on shore and build a fire or she will soon be dead of the cold."

They landed on the south bank, the north bank being too high at this point in the river. The men quickly built a fire and a tent was raised. Lord Lewyn inspected Cersei's luggage bag to make sure she had nothing in it that could do her harm and then left her alone in the tent so she could change clothing and dry off. At the flap Cersei hesitated. "No," she said. "Better I die of the cold than the fire she has waiting for me…or worse."

"Maybe so," Lord Lewyn replied. "But if you will not change your clothing I will be forced to tell my men to do so. Do it yourself or I will command it."

She glared at him. "Once I was your Queen! My father was your lord!"

"Yes, my lady, but not anymore." He held open the tent flap and she walked inside, seething.

They sat around the fire as night fell, eating some of the rations they had brought with them. Cersei was drier now, but shivered from the cold despite the fire. She had no desire to eat but her stomach rumbled so she took some bread and cheese and a drink of wine.

Suddenly there was the sound of horses approaching. The knights and other armed men stood and drew out their swords.

"Who goes there?" shouted Lord Lewyn as the horses stopped nearby, the darkness making it difficult to see any banners or sigils.

"Knights of the Reach," a calm voice said as a big man in armor on foot came into the circle of light made by the fire. He was tall and brawny, heavily bearded, dark of hair. On his surcoat was the golden rose of House Tyrell. "I am Ser Holten Bryce, in service with House Tyrell. We are on patrol. Who are you and what business have you in these parts?"

"Lord Lewyn of Deep Den. Escorting the former Queen Cersei to King's Landing. We are taking a barge downriver but we had…an accident…and are stopped here for the night."

"Mayhaps it better we escort you into the city, my lord," the knight replied. "If you truly have the Queen with you, your small party may not fare well."

Cersei stepped forward between the men. "What do you mean?" she demanded.

"Your Grace…" the knight began but Lord Lewyn cut him off.

"That is not her title now. Lady Cersei or Lannister will do."

"So be it," Ser Holten said. "My lady, the city's people are camped outside its walls in many places. If they see you, there may be trouble. Your small party will not be enough to protect you."

Cersei wanted to die, but not at the hands of a raving mob. "I see. What do you suggest, ser?" she asked,

"Lord Tarly is camped not far from here, my lady, with the bulk of the Reach army, heading for the capital. I suggest you enter the city with us as protection."

It was quickly agreed to. They left the riverman with his barge, paid well by Lord Lewyn, and they took their supplies and left with the patrol. Cersei was given a place to ride with Ser Holten on his horse, but as the rest were on foot it took some walking, so almost two hours later they found Lord Tarly's camp.

Cersei thought to somehow get the knight's dagger on his belt away from him, but she was exhausted by then, and felt a weakness all over, and knew she was getting sick. She fell into a semi-slumber as they rode and was surprised when they reached the camp. She wanted nothing but to go to bed, but when Lord Tarly heard she was here, he insisted she come to his tent. Cersei was more awake now, and agreed, wanting answers about her brother's betrayal.

In Lord Tarly's large tent she found the Lord of Horn Hill with Lord Lewyn. The table they were sitting at was small but covered in many dishes of the Reach's fine food. Two braziers gave off heat and some candles provided light.

The two lords stood as she entered. "I will take my leave," Lord Lewyn said.

"Going home?" Cersei asked in an indifferent tone.

"Yes," he replied. "Lord Tarly has lent us some horses to make our way to the Goldroad and home. We will leave in the morning, my lady."

She stared at him. "If I survive all this, your head will be the first one I come for."

For a moment he looked worried but then he shook his head and sighed. "My lady, the gods will see justice given to the people of the realm. I am sure we will never meet again. Goodbye, my lord. My lady, may the gods have mercy on your soul." And then he was gone.

Tarly was still standing by the table. A quick glance and Cersei saw nothing with a sharp edge except for the dagger on his belt, which would be difficult to get from him. He saw her looking at it and then grunted.

"No, there will be no easy way out for you. Lord Lewyn told me what you did."

"Then kill me now and be done with it."

He shook his head. "The people will have justice. Sit if you wish, and eat. If not, you will be escorted to a tent. If I have to tie you and chain you I will, so let us not have any foolishness while you are in my custody."

She sat, for she wanted answers only he could give her. A squire came and poured them wine and put food on plates and then he left.

Cersei gulped the wine and reached for the flagon and poured more and then took a sip. As she felt the wine flowing through her she relaxed a bit.

"So, my brother betrayed me," she began. "Is that how the historians will write it?"

"Yes," Tarly said. "Though I wonder who really betrayed who. Lord Jaime had no idea you were going to destroy the city."

"Not telling my brother was not a betrayal. It was a precaution. If he knew, the fool would have tried to do something heroic, like he did the last time."

"Last time?"

"Didn't he tell you? Mad Aerys wanted to destroy the city as well and Jaime stopped him."

"Yes, I have heard of this. As for your brother, after Qyburn tried to kill him he had…"

"What's this?" Cersei asked, completely taken off guard.

"Your man Qyburn commanded Gregor Clegane to kill Jaime. He almost did, but I took Clegane's head off with my sword." He quickly provided the rest of the details of the encounter, including Jaime killing Qyburn, which Cersei had already guessed had happened.

"So he thought I ordered him killed?" she asked, wondering if this is why Jaime had betrayed her.

"No, not at all. He knew you would never do that. It was all Qyburn's doing. Jaime knew the only way to save his men was to bend the knee. The dragons…there was nothing they could do. So many died."

"I saw the place where it happened."

"So you understand why we must bend to her will."

Cersei snorted. "Your Tyrell masters will kiss anyone's ass as long as they are in power."

"I have few masters left. You saw to that."

"Then who is giving the orders from Highgarden?"

"Lady Olenna."

This time Cersei laughed. "That old crone. Ordering you around like a bunch of children, is she?"

Tarly's face reddened. "You think if you insult me enough I will kill you? Not likely. Lady Olenna has a different fate in mind for you. Burning at the stake."

She wasn't surprised at this news. "Revenge she wants, but will the dragon lady allow it?"

"Hard to say. Many want your head. Burnt, hung, decapitated, bathed in dragon fire…the method matters not. You will die."

"I know. But first tell me what my brother said to her to convince her not to hang him as well."

"He told her she needed his army to fight the white demons in the North."

"She believes that as well?" Cersei asked in a scoffing manner. "She may be a bigger fool than I thought."

"Many believe it now, her included. My son Sam is in the Night's Watch. He saw them, he killed one. He said Jon Snow and his men fought thousands of them at Hardhome and he barely escaped with his life."

"Until I see one myself I will doubt it."

"I once felt the same," Tarly replied. "Now I wonder. So many stories, there must be some truth to them."

Cersei took another sip of wine and got to the point. "Surely she did not let my brother just walk free. What did he have to promise her?"

"Exile, across the Narrow Sea, when the wars are done. He actually asked that you go with him." Cersei felt a slight bit of hope but it was quickly dashed by Tarly's next words. "She refused, and then she asked for your head, which he agreed to."

"Liar!" she retorted as her blood began to rise.

"No, my lady, I do not lie. A condition of his army joining hers was you be arrested. He hesitated but a moment and then agreed."

Cersei still did not believe it. "Where is Jaime now? In chains? In a black cell?"

"I do not know, but I doubt it. The last I saw of him was by the Blackwater bridge. They were planning to move the armies to Harrenhal but I believe the snows have slowed them, as they have my army. We should be in the city in a few days now the weather is better."

He stood and called for his guards. Without another word they took her away to a tent. It had a small cot with blankets on it and a brazier for warmth. She could have set the tent and bedding on fire, but even in her desperate state she didn't have the courage to die in such a terrible way.

The next morning Cersei awoke with a shiver, feeling a chill in her bones. Then she began to cough, and she felt feverish, but she said nothing to anyone about it. Breakfast was brought to her tent, a bowl of hot porridge with honey in it and some ale to wash it down. The guard stood there as she ate. Poor fare it was, but she cared not, for her stomach was beginning to felt queasy from just this simple meal. But she kept it down, not wanting to appear weak in front of those who held her.

It took two days to reach the city and when they arrived the Blackwater was frozen. The cold had been getting worse each day and the morning of the day they arrived was the most bitter cold Cersei had ever felt in her life. The whole Reach army was suffering, shivering in their armor, breathing out huge clouds of steam. They were not well prepared for winter, for their clothing was too thin to hold off the cold. Cersei was not much better, and had only a large cloak to help her stay warm. When they reached the riverbanks, Lord Tarly sent some men across to test the ice. It was strong, but when a horse tried it fell through.

"We will wait a day and see how it is on the morrow," Tarly declared. He sent messengers across to send word they were on the south bank of the Blackwater but could not yet get the heavy horses and supplies across. When camp was set up, he had Cersei brought to his tent.

Lord Tarly was not alone. Two men were with him, one she recognized as Ser Holten Bryce. On the table lay a suit of armor, a bit small she thought for any of these men. Then she realized what it was for.

"So, you will sneak me into the city in that get up?"

"Yes," Tarly said. "It worked when you left. It should do to get you inside without having a riot on our hands."

She suddenly sneezed and had a fit of coughing. "Are you ill, my lady?" Ser Holten asked, concern in his voice.

A cup of wine was put in her hands and after she gulped some she felt better. "No, just a cough. The air is so dry."

Tarly looked at her with suspicion. "Ser Holten, call for the maester."

The maester had her sit on a chair and felt her forehead, and listened closely as she breathed, a wheezing rasp she could not hide. He stood and turned to Tarly. "She is ill, my lord. A fever and her chest is congested."

"To bed with her," Tarly said, looking worried. "Mulled wine and whatever hot poultices you have."

"At once, my lord," the maester replied.

Cersei managed to grin. "Afraid you will be cheated of seeing me die in some horrible fashion?"

"I care not how you die," Tarly retorted. "But others might, so we will do our best to make sure you live long enough to be punished for your crimes."

For two days she laid under thick blankets in a well heated tent as the fever raged and then broke on the second day. She sweated much and lost weight and could barely eat but once the fever broke the maesters said she could move into the city. However, they cautioned that she rest and have no undue excitement.

The ice had thickened enough for men and horses to cross over the river by then. Ser Holten helped her put on her armor disguise in her tent. In days past she would have tried to seduce him, to bring him to her side, but she was too ill in body and mind to even muster the strength to do so.

When he was finished he put the visor down on her helmet so only her eyes were visible. "It will do," he said.

"Don't I even get a weapon?"

He chuckled slightly. "No, afraid not." Then he grew serious. "I have no love for you or your family, but I fear what they will do to you."

She felt a surge of her old energy and grasped his arm. "Then do your duty as a knight and protect me."

He gently removed her hand. "That I cannot do. The die has been cast, my lady. Come, it is time."

She sagged and gave up. There was no hope, from any quarter. Soon at least she would see Jaime, and know the truth of all that had happened.

But it was not to be. Tarly gave her the news as she prepared to mount a horse they gave her. "Your brother and the new Queen are gone north three days past, with her dragons, to fight the white demons."

"What's this?" she asked. "More lies?"

"I am afraid not. Sansa Stark sent word that the Wall has fallen and Castle Black is overrun."

She just stared at him. "That's impossible. The Wall has never fallen."

"It seems the impossible is possible these days. Come, we will learn more in the city."

"But…Jaime went with her? On her dragons?"

"So it seems."

They helped her mount up and lead her horse through the trees to the river bank. There across the wide river was the city of her nightmares. As a girl she had loved the capital, with all its riches and pageantry of the court. The smells she even got used to, and in later years when she was Queen the whole place bowed down to her. But it was not her they bowed down to, not really. They bowed to her husband, and her father, and Cersei was respected only because of her marriage and her family. That she had learned when it had all fallen to pieces, and she had been forced into that humiliating walk. But she had her revenge on them.

Now she could see up close the damage she had wrought. Whole sections of the walls were gone. Once tall buildings which reached higher than the walls were no longer visible. The Sept of Baelor was already gone, and now the Dragonpit of old was half destroyed, and the Red Keep was not as mighty as it once was. Still, it stood, testifying to the strength of stone and skill of its builders, or the weakness of wildfire to do the job right.

As they crossed on the ice the horses had a hard time with their footing so the progress was slow. Cersei could see all along the river bank were crowds of people, and hundreds of tents and crudely built shelters, along with dozens of small columns of smoke coming from campfires. She felt her tension rise, for she did not want to fall prey to these people, knowing what they would to do her for what she had done to them. Ser Holten sensed her unease.

"Not to worry, my lady, we will protect you."

"Only until I am in the black cells," she replied in a tartly manner, which she regretted soon after for he was doing all he could under the circumstances to see her safe. "Apologies," she said, struggling to get the word out as it felt unfamiliar on her tongue.

He did not reply right away and perhaps had not heard her but he had. "Queens should not apologize," he said in a quiet voice.

"I am no longer a queen," she answered. He had no answer to that for it was true.

Tarly rode back to where they were. "Keep close by her, but not in a suspicious manner," he warned the knights and men at arms around her. "My lady, do not speak or raise your helmet visor. In a short time we will be in the city."

Cersei felt her fear rise, and panic bean to set in the closer they got to the north bank. Her horse sensed her fear and started to shy away from the path it was following, as if she had willed it to turned to the right. But Ser Holten blocked her. "Steady," he said in a calm voice and she took some comfort from his confidence.

It went as they said it would. The crowds did not notice her, and most cared not to even bother looking at the men filing into the city. Weary they were of war, Cersei guessed, and one more army meant more fighting perhaps. The faces she saw were pinched, and had a hungry look in their eyes, and also a look of despair, a look she was sure would be on her own face if she had a Myrish looking glass to see her reflection.

The entered by the Mud Gate and once inside the destruction was everywhere to see. Whole blocks had been reduced to piles of shattered brick and masonry. Huge gaps were in the streets, and piles of rubble as well, and despite hundreds of people working to clear the streets, there was no clear direct path from the Mud Gate to the Red Keep. They had to take a roundabout route, passing through most of the city, winding their way through places once known but now so unfamiliar. Cersei would have enjoyed the view, knowing she had been the cause of it, except she knew they would have their vengeance on her in one way or another soon.

As they finally reached the Red Keep, or at least what was left of it, Cersei's thoughts drifted to Jaime…and his betrayal. For that is what it was, clearly now more than ever. There had been no trick it seemed. No scheme…if Tarly told the truth. The proof would be in who met them. If not the dragon girl, then she must truly be gone away to the North and perhaps Jaime was with her after all, though they knew not yet why he had gone with her.

In the courtyard before the broken doors of the main part of the inner Red Keep they were met, by a group with the sun and spear of Dorne as their sigils…and Lord Varys as well. The plump eunuch was standing there as if all was right in the world…and it was in his world. The traitor who had helped Tyrion kill her father had come home. She should never have trusted him all those years, should have told Robert or Jaime to kill him.

Beside the eunuch stood a tall bearded man, very handsome, adored in strange armor and clothing, of the east perhaps. Behind them were three men who could only be Dothraki by their clothing, color, and long braided hair. Cersei had never met one before but had heard many stories of them.

And in the center of them all was a women she had met before, at her son's wedding. Ellaria Sand…the one who Jaime said had killed Myrcella.

There she stood, dressed in finery, with a fur lined cape on her shoulders, as if she was now Queen of Westeros. She had heard men in the camp saying she was now calling herself "Princess Ellaria" and there was even a rumor that Daenerys would name her as heir until she had a child…a move that Cersei knew nobody would support, for the woman was bastard born, and could never rise to the Iron Throne. But here at least she seemed to be in command for now, with many of her men at her back, including three dark-haired, dark-eyed girls behind her, all three well armed, one with a whip, one with a spear, the third with daggers at her hips.

Tarly climbed off of his horse and the rest of the men did as well, Cersei following their moves, with Ser Holten close by her right side. Tarly approached the Dornish woman. "We would like words with the Queen," he said without dipping his head or calling her any title at all. The Reach and Dorne had no love for each other, and Tarly was not a man who would bend to someone from Dorne, especially not a woman.

Ellaria must have been used to such treatment for she seemed to care not. "The Queen is gone north, as we told your messengers two days ago, Lord Tarly."

"Why?" he demanded.

Varys answered. "The White Walkers have broken through the Wall. Jon Snow's army is in retreat to Winterfell. This is from Sansa Stark." He pulled a raven scroll from his robes and handed it to Tarly, who read it and then grunted.

"So, all the tales are true," Tarly said. "Where is Lord Jaime?"

Again Varys answered. "The Queen's dragons needed rest and food at various places still controlled by Lannister forces. Harrenhal and the Twins. Lord Jaime went to ease her passage, riding behind her as a passenger on the largest dragon."

"A foolish risk," Tarly replied. "He could easily kill her, push her off her dragon."

"Doubtful," said the tall man from the east. "If he pushed her off Drogon he would soon follow her. Dragons will take a passenger, but not without the dragon master as well. We made sure he knew this before they left. As for those soldiers, if they would not obey Jaime's orders to lay down arms, then three dragons could easily take care of that."

"Dragons can be killed," Tarly retorted. "So can she, by just one arrow."

"The risk was necessary," Varys said. "If she cannot stop the white demons in the North, then we will all suffer greatly."

"Enough of this," Ellaria said. "Lord Tarly, your men reported you had a valuable prisoner. But I do not see her anywhere. Bring her to me…now."

"I do not answer to Dorne," Tarly spat.

Oh, this was good. They still hate each, Cersei thought. Maybe…

"Come, come," said Varys, breaking the tension. "We are all allies now, and have a new enemy to consider. If you have Cersei, Lord Tarly, let us get this over with and on to more pressing business."

Cersei had had enough. She took the helmet off, dropped it with a clatter, and stepped out of the ranks behind Tarly.

"I'm here," she said. "But I will not surrender to a whore from Dorne."

She had expected to shock the Dornish woman but Ellaria only laughed. "Oh, I know what I am. All the realm knows," Ellaria said. "Can you say the same for yourself?"

"I am the daughter of Tywin Lannister," Cersei shot back, her head held high. "Wife of a King! Queen of the Realm!"

"Brother fucker, king killer!" Ellaria snarled in reply. "Destroyer of this city! I should give you to the people so they can tear you limb from limb! Seize her!"

"That will not happen!" Tarly shouted in reply and all the men of his party drew out their swords as did the Dornish.

Cersei felt herself go faint, felt her legs tremble, and, coupled with the weakness of her recent illness, her body had had enough. She fell to her knees, and let go a sob, as Ser Holten bent to her side to help steady herself.

"See!" Ellaria shouted with glee as she pointed to Cersei. "The guilty always confess in the end, whether to men or the gods. She knows what she has done. Now let her suffer for it!"

"We cannot have this," Varys said, trying to be calm. "The Queen promised her a fair trial."

Ellaria Sand stared at Varys and then back to Tarly, and once more back to Varys. Finally she merely shrugged. "What does it matter how she dies? Soon it will be done with." She spat in front of where Cersei was bent over, and then turned to leave. "Take the whore to the dungeon."

But Cersei was not done yet. "Ellaria," she said and the woman from Dorne turned back.

"What now?"

Cersei spoke, but the words were a mumble, so low no one could hear. Ellaria Sand came closer. "Say what you will woman and then it is the black cells for you."

"I just have one more thing to say," Cersei replied and then she sprang to her feet, Ser Holten's dagger in her right hand, and in a heartbeat it was in the Dornish woman's throat, ripping across and tearing out her life in one thrust.

"THIS IS FOR MYRCELLA!" Cersei screamed as the blood flew and the woman of Dorne collapsed gasping at her feet.

And then as Ellaria Sand died all was chaos. Hands grabbed Cersei from behind and pulled her back, and as bedlam ensued all around her exhaustion and weakness finally took over and she mercifully passed out.


	12. Chapter 12

**Game of Thrones Season 7 Chapter 12**

 **Winterfell – Arya**

"He's mine to kill," Arya Stark told Tyrion Lannister after the Imp had asked her to do him a favor.

She had just finished working at the forge with Gendry and Mikken in the late morning and had been washing her hands in the water trough when the Imp had approached her.

"We need have words, my lady," Tyrion said.

"I have no time for you," Arya replied. "I have guard duty on the north gate."

"I will walk with you then, if you do not mind."

"Suit yourself. Just know I have no liking for any of your lot."

"Yes, I got that message already," Tyrion replied as they started walking towards the small gate that led to the path that went around the godswood and then towards the north gate towers and battlements. He had to take many steps to keep up with her long strides. "It seems my family is less than scum in your eyes."

"Worse," she shot back.

"I see. Well, perhaps there is something we can do to redeem ourselves."

She scoffed. "I doubt it. Your brother pushed Bran off the tower. I know it, you know, he knows it, everyone knows it. Why doesn't he just admit it so we can hang him and be done with it?"

"The Queen has made promises to Jaime. Exile across the Narrow Sea is the fate that awaits him."

"And what about the justice Bran deserves?"

"Your evidence?"

Arya had none, just a gut feeling that Jaime had been involved somehow. Her silence Tyrion understood. "I see. There are no witnesses, he remembers nothing, so…"

"So your brother will walk free," Arya said in disgust.

"All this will be settled when the Queen returns," Tyrion replied.

"If she returns."

"I have no doubt she will, with your brother in tow. He…"

"He's not my brother." The whole castle knew by now, the rumor spreading like fire on a stiff breeze.

"Yes. Apologies, it slipped my mind. I suppose he is your cousin then, if the story of his parentage is true."

"I guess. Look, what do you want? We are almost at the gate."

"I want to kill Baelish."

She stopped and stared at him. "Me and many others as well. Why do you want him dead?"

"Lies he told your mother and father almost got me killed."

"Lies that got many more actually killed, including my parents. So, no, little man, he is not yours. He's mine to kill."

"I see. And how would that go, if you were discovered?"

"I won't be."

"You seem confident. How, may I ask will you…?"

"No, you may not ask," Arya interrupted. "Just for curiosity sake, how are you planning on killing him?"

"I am not. My brother Jaime, on the other hand, he…"

"He has no other hand. Just the one. He'd screw it up. Besides, he is locked in a room with guards on his door, guarded as well as Baelish is."

"Not if you ask Jaime's guards to leave or get him out of the room on some pretext."

"I won't."

"A small lie is all," Tyrion said. "Taking him to the baths, or for some light exercise, or…"

"You're not as smart as everyone says you are," Arya told him with a smirk. "Look, the possibility of your brother killing Baelish is none. In the dungeons there are two guards, and only one door and then the cell door, both of which are locked. Baelish is not leaving till his trial, if that ever happens. And no one will let you or your brother near him. So forget it."

"Seems you have thought this through."

"I have. There's the gate. Goodbye."

"One more thing."

"What?"

"I heard from Bronn all about your adventures in Braavos."

"So?"

"So…are they true?"

"What did he tell you?"

"You trained for over a year with the Faceless Men. That you used your training to kill Meryn Trant, Walder Frey, and Ilyn Payne."

"More than them three."

"Remarkable," Tyrion said in what she thought was true admiration.

"Not if you know how, plan well, and are patient."

"So what is stopping you from killing Baelish?"

"A promise, to Sansa, to not do it unless we have no more options."

"Yes, better he die in a nice legal way. That way the Vale stays quiet."

"That's the plan. And if the worm wiggles his way out of it…" She need not say the rest.

"So he is a dead man."

"He will never leave Winterfell alive."

"Good. That is all I need to know. Good-day."

He left her and Arya was glad for she hated the little man and all his family. Much as the Imp was well thought of by others, including her sister, Arya would never forget he was the spawn of Tywin Lannister. A man who had once saved her and Gendry, but he had also done so much to harm her family, killing her mother and brother in cold blood.

At the top of the gate the Hound was there with Thoros and Dondarrion and many of the Brotherhood Without Banners men who had survived to this point.

"Good-day, my lady," Dondarrion said.

"Not talking to you," she shot back.

Dondarrion sighed. "Are we ever going to have peace?"

"Never," she said as she stood by the Hound and stared off to the north and the snowy whiteness out there.

"Lot of anger in you still," the Hound said quietly.

"Aye," she said in the Northern way.

"Good," he replied. "Anger will keep you alive, make you want to kill your enemies."

She knew why he had been angry for many years. "I heard your brother is truly dead now."

"So Jaime Lannister says."

"Good."

"I knew you would be happy to hear that. On your list, wasn't he?"

"Aye."

"Because he almost killed your man at Harrenhal?"

"What?" Arya said in surprise. Then she remembered. Everyone knew about her and Gendry. "Oh…yes."

"Is he truly Robert's son?"

"Yes…does everyone know that too?"

"Aye. The smallfolk always hear the rumors and spread them faster than fleas on a dog."

She sighed. "The only trouble is we cannot…we cannot…be alone, hardly ever."

"Then marry him and do as you please."

She felt her face get hot. "We talked about it."

"And?"

"Nothing is decided yet. He hasn't asked me, not really. We talked around it, sort of. I think he is afraid to ask because he still sees himself as smallfolk and me a noble lady."

"The Queen could fix that," said Dondarrion, who had apparently been eavesdropping.

She scowled at him. "None of your business."

"He's right," said Thoros. "The Queen could legitimize him. Make him a Baratheon."

"I…I wouldn't know how to ask."

"I will ask," said Dondarrion. "For all the trouble we caused you two, it is the least I could do."

"Thanks," she said in a small voice. Then came an awful thought. "But…but if he is a Baratheon won't he have claim on the throne?"

"No," said the Hound. "She is the daughter of the Mad King who Robert overthrew. She has the right before the smith."

"True," said Dondarrion. "Besides, who will ever challenge her and her dragons?"

As if his words had some power of some kind, no sooner had Dondarrion said them then came a shout from one of his men. "Look! The dragons have returned!"

All eyes looked to where he pointed, and there in the distance coming down the Kingsroad were the three dragons…and now out of the snowy mists below them they could see men, marching in column, the dragons above them circling as if protecting them.

Arya felt a lump form in her throat. "Jon," she said in a bare whisper and then she was running down the battlement steps to the ground below, the Hound following close behind her. She knew they would come to the east gate, for the path to the north gate was still blocked with heavy snows.

As if he knew as well, Ghost was jumping and trying to break loose from when he was chained up near the great keep with Nymeria by his side. Both direwolves knew something was happening and Arya let them loose from their chains. Sansa and Davos were just crossing the courtyard and Arya shouted to them.

"The dragons are coming!"

Then she was out the east gate and down the road through the town to the Kingsroad, the Hound, Sansa, and Davos close behind her with the direwolves jumping ahead of them all.

"Oh, gods, please let me see him again," she almost cried. She felt a hand on her shoulder and for a second thought Gendry was there but it was the Hound and she felt oddly comforted by his hand resting there.

"Aye, I see him," said another voice, and it was Bronn, with his sharp eyes, standing next to Davos.

"Where?" Arya gasped.

"On the dragon…with her," said the Hound.

They were right, there was Jon, on the back of the largest dragon with the Queen, coming closer and then landing in front of them as the other two dragons landed behind the big one.

Arya tried to run forward but the Hound held her back. "Careful of them beasts!" he hissed and she knew he was right, that she had been stupid, almost running right in front of the dragon.

Jon climbed off the back and then helped the Queen down. And then he looked at Arya and a big grin broke out and he ran towards her.

Arya met him halfway and leaped into his open arms and as he hugged her tight she started to cry. The two direwolves danced around them as Jon spun her around and put her down in front of him.

"Little sister," he said with a grin. "You have come home at last."

"Aye," she said and then he ruffled her hair like he did in the old days and Arya felt all would be right in the world. And then she remembered. "But we are not brother and sister, are we?"

His face clouded over. "No…we are not. Bran told you all?"

"He did," said Sansa as she came beside them and then Jon hugged her tight as well. Behind them the Queen waited for the reunion to end and then she stepped forward.

"My ladies…we have returned, but much has happened. We have many wounded and the war is not over yet."

"You fought the demons?" Arya asked.

"Aye," said Jon, his voice heavy. "She saved us when we were surrounded. Ser Davos," Jon called out, walking past Arya. "We must prepare for our men coming down the road."

As Jon and Sansa and Davos went off to take care of matters Arya stood by the Queen and her dragons. "Thank you," she said to the Queen.

"He is very brave, your brother."

"He is not my brother."

"So, you know."

"As do you I take it."

"Yes, my lady."

"Arya…just call me Arya, Your Grace."

"Very well…Arya. I know the truth, yes. Come, we must get inside. The demons are not destroyed yet."

"Wait…who is leader now, you or Jon?"

"We agreed I will be Queen of Westeros. As for the rest, we have to discuss it all."

Long into the night they were busy, taking care of the wounded from Jon's force, dealing with finding places for them all to sleep, and distributing food. By the time all was settled it was too late to talk about who would be leader of what. The Queen's dragons were placed in the godswood, where they were fed. Once docile the Queen put chains around them and they were tethered to stout trees. Daenerys retired to the royal apartments, where once Robert Baratheon and Cersei had slept when they had visited Winterfell.

After Jon saw to the defenses he came to them and the Stark children were finally alone, sitting in their parents' solar, with the man they always thought of as their brother, and always would think of as their brother no matter who his parents really were.

Food and drink were brought and long they talked, on all their adventures, and some tears were shed when the stories were told of who had died and would never join them again.

And then came the thing they all wanted the most. Arya could see Jon's anger build as Sansa told him all about what Baelish had done. Finally Jon stood.

"Stay here. You should have no part of this," he told them as he picked up his sword Longclaw and strapped it on.

"What will you do?" Sansa asked in alarm.

"What should have been done long ago."

"No, Jon," she pleaded. "What of the Vale men?"

"They all want him dead as well," Jon told her. "They have no love for him."

"Neither does Tyrion Lannister," Arya said as she stood.

Sansa nodded and then sighed heavily. "Very well. It is time to be rid of him."

"Let me do it," said Arya. "I can do it and no one will ever know it was me or even how he died."

Jon shook his head. "No. We will not hide what we do. This man is responsible for the deaths of people we love." He looked at Bran. "They call me king but I am not one, not really. You are our lord, Bran. What say you?"

Bran nodded. "Yes, it must be done. Father always said the man who passes the sentence must swing the sword. But I cannot even stand."

"Then I will swing the sword," Jon said as he gripped the pommel of Longclaw.

"Not that sword," Sansa said, now fully on Jon's side of this. "Brienne's sword Oathkeeper was made from Ice, Father's great Valyrian steel sword. Ilyn Payne used Ice to kill Father. It is fitting it should also killed the man who betrayed him and the rest of us as well."

"Get Brienne," Jon said. "Meet us in the courtyard. Arya, take me to him."

Down they went, towards the armory, and through the outer cell doors to where Baelish was in his cell, dozing on his cot. He stirred when he heard the cell door opening.

"What is all the…oh, visitors," he said as he sat up and then stood. "Your Grace. I am happy you have returned, alive and well."

"I have," Jon said. "This is…"

"Arya Stark," Baelish said. "The last time I saw you was at Harrenhal, where you spilled my wine."

"You knew it was me?" Arya asked in disbelief.

"Of course. Now your next question will be why I never told Tywin Lannister. I am sure you know the answer."

"Because of my mother."

"Yes…I loved her from the time I was a boy."

"Like you loved my Aunt Lysa who you killed?"

Baelish shrugged. "Men and women marry for many reasons, not always for love. And I did not kill her."

"Enough of this," Jon said. "Take him. Bind his hands."

Baelish now grew concerned as the two guards came into the cell and bound his hands behind him. "Is my trial about to begin? I heard the Queen has arrived. There is no need for bindings. I assure you I will not try to escape. Where would I go anyway? Winter is here."

"There will be no trial," Jon said and the guards shoved Baelish out the doors and up the stairs.

"I am a great lord!" Baelish yelled, suddenly realizing what was happening. "I must have a hearing!"

"No, don't let him speak," Arya said with worry to Jon. "He will find a way to worm his way out of it."

"Don't worry."

"I am innocent!" Baelish shouted as he was dragged into the courtyard. "I have done nothing wrong!"

Arya was surprised at the large crowd waiting for them, seemingly everyone in the castle, including the Queen, who stood out from the restless crowd. The scene was lit by many torches and lanterns. Bran was there, sitting nearby on a bench with Meera and Gendry and the Hound by his side. Davos, Tyrion, Bronn, and Pod were also nearby, standing near the Queen. Many shouted out curses to Baelish, including many men from the Vale. Most of their leaders and knights were dead now, Arya knew, and the common men had no love for Baelish, not after they heard he had killed their lady.

"Your Grace!" Baelish said to Daenerys. "I demand a trial. I must be heard. I want the witnesses against me to produce their evidence! I beg of you!"

She gave him an icy stare. "Lord Baelish, I presume. I have heard all the evidence from my advisors. Though I must admit your fomenting war did make my conquest of Westeros easier, it also destroyed many lives, and weakened the realm in its hour of need. Next to that there is the murder of Lysa Arryn, your wife of only a few days from what I hear. Only one death, but we have a witness, and my advisors tell me her story is quite convincing."

"All lies," he said, growing calmer, trying to rebuild his confidence. "Sansa believes I did her and her family harm so that is why she told those stories. I did not start the war. I did not kill my wife. I have always been loyal. I could be loyal to you as well, and serve as master of coin as the realm is rebuilt."

"No, I think not," Daenerys said in a dismissive tone. "The men I have with me now I trust because they came through the fire with me. You, I know not, and care not to know better after what I have heard of you. It seems your lies have harmed the North more than any other place, and the Stark family in particular. The North will have its justice." She looked to Jon. "Do with him as you wish."

"As you command, Your Grace," Jon said and Arya was glad to see Baelish go pale and limp as they dragged him forward.

And when Baelish saw Sansa and Brienne standing by a chopping block, he fell to his knees in the slush of the courtyard. "No…Sansa…everything I did I did for you!"

"Everything you did got my parents and brothers killed!" Sansa retorted in anger.

"I saved you from Joffrey! I saved Winterfell!"

"From monsters you helped create!" She reached for the sword Brienne held and took it out of the scabbard and held it as if she was to be the executioner. Arya could see its fine honed edge gleam in the torchlight. "Put him on the block." Sansa said.

Jon stared at her, aghast at what she intended to do. "Sansa…you cannot."

"I can," she said, her tone fierce and full of anger, not the young girl Arya remembered from so long ago anymore. "Bran was right. Father always said the one who passes the sentence must swing the sword. Bran is Lord of Winterfell but cannot stand. I am his heir. I must swing the sword."

A long silence there was and then Jon nodded once. "Aye, so be it." He turned to the guards and nodded as the crowd cheered for blood.

Baelish was dragged forth and his head was laid on the block and he was held down, struggling so much they had to almost sit on him. He was shouting he was innocent, that it was all a mistake, that Sansa only wanted revenge for the things she believed he had done, and that he demanded a trial…and then finally he was quiet and sobbing even a bit.

Jon suddenly spoke. "Wait. The proper words must be said." He turned to Bran. "Do you remember? When Father killed the deserter from the Watch?"

"I remember," Bran said. "I Brandon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, in the name of Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the First of her Name, condemn Lord Petyr Baelish to death for the crimes of…of…"

"Murder," Arya said.

"Causing a war," Brienne said next.

"For lies which ruined the realm," Tyrion added.

"Yes," said Bran. "All of that."

Jon nodded to Sansa. "Let it be done."

"Any last words, my lord?" Sansa asked as she raised the Valyrian steel sword named Oathkeeper that was once Ice.

"I love you!" he shouted, and then the sharp blade came down and Lord Petyr Baelish was no more.

* * *

 **Kings Landing – Varys**

Lord Varys paced in the long corridor outside the room. Such worries Varys had had in the past, but none seemingly like the ones now confronting him. A civil war was simmering in their allied army ranks, and it was barely contained. Dorne and the Reach were ready to clash, and all was still uncertain. A raven had been sent to Winterfell with the news, asking the Queen to return as soon as possible.

The news was plenty. Ellaria Sand was dead, killed by Cersei Lannister. Then the Dornish tried to kill her. One of the Sand Snakes was dead, killed by Lord Tarly when she stabbed at Cersei with her spear. Three more Dornish died, two men of the Reach as well, plus several wounded on each side, before the clash was settled when Ser Jorah arrived with many Unsullied, who separated the combatants and surrounded Cersei. Daario had picked up Cersei and carried her into the castle with the Unsullied protecting them. Tarly and his men left the castle and were now camped outside the city.

Two Unsullied guards were on the door, and two more at each end of the hall. Ser Jorah and Daario came towards him.

"What news?" Jorah asked.

"I know not," Varys replied. "The archmaester is still with her."

Then the door opened and Marwyn came out. "Well?" Jorah asked.

"She will live…long enough for you to kill her," Marwyn told them. "The spear tip penetrated only a short way past her chain mail into her left shoulder. I have cleaned the wound and put a poultice on it."

"Is she awake?" Varys asked.

"Yes, but she should rest."

"Not yet," Jorah said as he stormed into the room with Varys, Marwyn, and Daario on his heels.

The room was small, a servant's quarters with two beds, the closest empty room they found after the incident. Cersei was in the bed on the left, sitting up, propped up by several pillows. A heavy bandage on her left shoulder was visible under a linen night dress. Pieces of armor lay on the floor at the foot of the bed.

"Is it time for my trial?" she asked, her voice soft, her demeanor contrite, not the Cersei that Varys remembered.

"Not yet, my lady," Varys said.

She stared at him and some fire came back into her eyes. "Traitor. How many kings and queens have you served?"

"We are not here for a history lesson," Jorah said.

"Who are you?" she asked, some of the old haughtiness coming back as well.

"Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island," Jorah replied.

"Another traitor," she said with evident disgust. "I remember who you are now. A slave trader, in self-exile across the Narrow Sea. Once you served Robert in his wars against the Targaryens."

"Aye, I did. Now Robert is dead, and rumor is you had a hand in killing him."

"Lies. A boar killed him."

"So it was," said Varys. "But my little birds tell me Lancel Lannister was all set to confess at your trial that you ordered him to fortify the King's wine and make sure he drank plenty of it. Enough so he could not steady his boar spear."

"Robert needed no encouragement to drink himself into a stupor," she shot back.

"True enough," Varys said. "Well, Lancel is dead and so we will never know. Now to new business."

"Aye," said Jorah. "Why did you kill Ellaria Sand?"

"She killed my daughter Myrcella."

"Good enough for me," said Daario.

"And you are?" Cersei asked, with that catch in her voice she used when showing interest in a man she wanted under her thumb. She had tried it on Varys years ago, and of course it did not work.

Nor did it work on Daario, whose love belonged to another woman. "Just a sellsword," he said. "With better things to do. You know where to find me."

After he was gone Varys turned back to Cersei. "Your proof that she killed Myrcella?"

"Jaime told me it all…before he betrayed me as well. Jaime said that woman kissed her on the lips before Myrcella boarded the ship where she died. And Qyburn tested her body when Jaime brought her home. A poison was on her lips, he said."

"How horrid," Varys said in sympathy. He had always liked Myrcella, though her death and Tommen's as well did avoid one complication the Queen had hoped to avoid.

"A mother getting revenge," Jorah said. "No one will disagree that she deserved death. But will the Dornish stand down?"

"Perhaps," said Varys. "But the Sand Snakes won't. Make sure she is well guarded."

"What does it matter?" Cersei said. "Why heal me? Why guard me? Soon I will be dead."

Marwyn answered. "We heal because it is the right thing to do."

"You mean you must save me for her dragons."

"For justice," Jorah said. "The people demand it."

"You talk of justice," Cersei said. "That's why I did it. Why I killed her. Why I blew up the sept, destroyed this city. Justice…for me!"

"Yes," said Varys with a heavy sigh. "Sadly, I do not disagree with you. The High Septon, your uncle Kevan, all of the rest are to blame as much as you. They put you in a corner and left you no options."

"Yes!" Cersei almost shouted, her eyes full of emotion. "I did what I had to do."

"You did not have to destroy the city," Jorah said. "If you had surrendered the Queen might even have let you and Jaime go into exile."

Cersei snorted. "More lies. Get out."

"As you wish," Varys said as he turned to Ser Jorah "Come, we have much to do."

They left the room and walked down the corridor. "How fare our reluctant allies?" Varys asked.

"Anger on both sides," Jorah told him. "The Dornish claim the knight gave the dagger to Cersei, that he planned it with her. That she must have seduced him somehow."

"Ser Holten claims not, and there is no evidence he did plot with her," Varys said. "Where is he now?"

"In chains and under guard by Tarly's orders. He is in their camp, waiting until we get to the bottom of all this."

"There is nothing to get to the bottom of," Varys said. "He bent to her side, she grasped his dagger without his knowing, and then she did what she had to do. To suggest she planned it and plotted it seems ridiculous. Cersei did not know who she would meet, did not know what the circumstances would be."

"So, she saw a chance and took it?"

"Yes."

They turned a corner and there was a messenger walking towards them. "Lord Anders Yronwood and Lord Tarly have sent messages, my lords," the young man said as he handed over the notes to Varys.

"Wait," Varys said as he read the two notes and then he smiled and nodded. "Very well. Tell them in an hour. Bring them to the room we use for small council meetings."

"What news?" Jorah asked as the messenger ran off.

"They want a parley, with me overseeing all."

"Good. Let us end all this nonsense and get back to the real war before the whole realm knows of our troubles."

"Better to have Daario there as well," Varys said. "In case they go at each other."

An hour later and the five men met in the room. Varys sat at the head of the table, with Ser Jorah and Daario standing behind him. Tarly sat to Varys' right and Lord Anders to his left. Anders Yronwood was head of one of the most powerful families in Dorne. He was of the mountain Dornish people, with fair hair and blue eyes, unlike the darker desert dwelling Dornish.

"It is time to end this strife," Varys said to begin.

"Agreed," said Tarly. "It was not wanted. The former queen acted without any knowledge of me or my men."

"So say you," Lord Anders replied. "How did she get the dagger?"

"By cunning," Tarly answered. "The knight who owns the dagger had no knowledge that she would do so. He merely bent to her side to help her stand again."

Anders stared at him for a long moment and then nodded. "So be it. Then I must ask for compensation for the men who were killed. Their families will demand it."

"I will demand as much for the men killed on my side," Tarly replied.

"Agreed," said Lord Anders. "I believe one hundred gold for each of our dead is fair enough."

"It will do," Tarly said and then he stood and reached across the table with an outstretched hand which Anders shook.

When they sat again Anders turned to Varys. "We will put all the blame for this on Cersei Lannister. Where is she now?"

"Recovering from her wound," Varys said. "The Queen will deal with her when she returns."

"Very well," said Anders. "If that is all…"

"A moment, my lord," Varys said. "What of the young women, the so called Sand Snakes?"

"Not to worry," Anders said. "I have made sure they will trouble you or Dorne no more."

Varys stared at him. "Do you mean…?"

"The other two are dead," Anders replied. "That is all you need know. Revenge they wanted, more blood, so I put an end to all that. Dorne and the realm will breathe a little easier knowing that bastard Ellaria and all her brood are gone."

"Does she not have another daughter?" Ser Jorah asked.

"Prince Oberyn had another daughter, Sarella," Anders said. "But she is not Ellaria's child. Her mother was from the Summer Islands. I don't know where she is but if she causes trouble we will deal with her as well."

"But who will lead Dorne now?" Varys asked.

"That is for Dorne to decide. I am sure Prince Doran had a cousin or two somewhere. As for now, I am still in command of our army. What are our plans?"

Varys wondered how serious he was about finding "a cousin or two". He knew that the Yronwood family had once ruled a large part of Dorne. Maybe they wanted to again. Perhaps that was why he so easily agreed to Tarly's explanation. He cared not that Ellaria was dead. In fact, he seemed glad.

"We await the Queen's word from the North," Jorah said to Lord Anders' question. "Otherwise we continue to help rebuild the city and aid those in need. The Greyjoys still want to ship our armies north, but I believe that would be folly in winter."

"No Dornish will step on any ship this time of year," Lord Anders said.

"Nor the Reach," Tarly said.

"If that is all?" Lord Anders asked.

"For now," Varys replied. Then the two commanders left the room.

"That went better than I thought it would," said Varys.

"What do you think he did with the other two Sand Snakes?" Daario wondered.

"Not our business," said Jorah. "Let us just be glad they are no longer our concern." He looked at Varys. "What now, wise councilor?"

"We wait for the Queen, as I said."

"And Cersei?" Daario asked.

"Her fate will be decided when the Queen returns."

* * *

 **Winterfell – Sansa**

She awoke in her room in the early morning, alone as usual…and she was so very lonely. Not that any man had ever spent much time in her bed, not even her two husbands. Tyrion had never forced himself on her, nor shared a bed with her, not even one night. Ramsey preferred to take what he wanted and then leave her, to go sleep with the whore Theon had killed, or play with his beasts that would one day kill him. She was glad Ramsey never wanted to share her bed, for every time he tried to play the dutiful husband his hypocrisy sickened her even more than when he did the disgusting things he wanted with her body. The only saving grace from all his actions was that she had failed to conceive a child with him. She went to the sept often and thanked the gods for that one small mercy.

As she sat up she thought of the third man who had wanted her, a man she had killed the night before. He was dead now, his body burned, and he would torment them no more. She should have done it ages ago, when she and Brienne had confronted him in the smashed remains of Mole Town. But no, if she had done that then Jon would be dead now and Ramsey alive, so maybe it was good she had stayed her wrath. Once she worried on the reaction of the Vale and the realm from this action but now that it was done with the Queen's approval she no longer worried. Swinging the sword at his neck had brought her more joy than anything she had done in a long time. As she sat up in her bed she stared at her hands in the semi-gloom. No shakes, no bad feelings, no regrets. She had killed two men and did not feel one drop of remorse for her actions. Perhaps because they both deserved death and everyone approved of her actions. Or…no, she would not think on that.

When it was done Tyrion had found her and made a quip that stayed with her till she fell asleep and she now recalled again.

"It seems the men in your life all end up badly," he had said. "Best we get that annulment sooner than later." She had laughed and so had he and many who saw them thought maybe they were a bit mad for laughing at such an occasion. As for the annulment, as yet there was no septon so they might have to go to White Harbor to do the deed.

She washed in hot water a servant brought and then dressed warmly and brushed her hair. There was a knock and Lady Brienne came in.

"Good morning, my lady. How…how are you?" she asked Sansa.

"Fine."

"Really?"

Sansa sighed. She knew Brienne and Jon and Ser Davos had worried about her after she had killed Baelish. No…not killed…executed…for his crimes.

"Yes, I am fine, as I told you and Jon last night. If you expected me to be damaged for executing a man who destroyed our realm and my family then you know me not."

"No, of course you would not feel remorse. But killing a man in that way is very personal."

"As it should be. Baelish killed so many, but how many did he actually kill face to face? Only one. A woman who thought he loved her. He killed her by surprised, by pushing her off a mountain."

"He was a coward then and at the end."

Sansa sighed again. "Let us speak of him no more."

"As my lady commands."

"I am eating breakfast with my brother and sister and Jon. Shall we go?"

"A moment, my lady. You have a visitor."

"Who?"

"Sandor Clegane."

"Bid him enter."

The Hound came in, tall and brutish looking as always, dressed in armor and with his weapons about him as if he expected a war wherever he went. Yet she always felt glad to see him, even in this form. He dipped his head to her.

"Good morning, Sandor. How may I help you?"

"It is you I want to help," he replied. "Your family anyway. I want to swear my sword to Winterfell."

Sansa was taken aback. "I…yes. That would be wonder…nice. Fine, I mean. But Bran is our lord. You should swear your loyalty to him."

"Aye…but first I wanted you to know. I wanted your approval." He said the last as if he were a small boy asking a parent for something he badly wanted. Sansa saw Brienne smile and try not to laugh.

"Yes, of course," Sansa replied. "In fact, I think you would make a wonderful companion for Bran."

A cloud came over the Hound's face. "I can't be the boy's legs, not like that fellow who died up north."

"Hodor," Sansa said. "His name was Hodor."

"Aye. Hodor. I can't be him."

"Sandor…Bran needs someone, strong, able to help him, be by his side."

"Gendry the smith can do it."

"No, he can't, for someday he and Arya will marry and have a family."

"Aye, I suppose they will," the Hound replied. He gave a deep growl and then nodded. "I will give it a try. But if I don't like it he can find himself another."

"Very well," Sansa said. "Let us ask him."

They went to Bran's rooms but he was already downstairs in the great hall at breakfast. They found him there, at the head table in the lord's chair, with Jon on his right and Arya on his left, with Ser Davos nearby Jon, and Meera by Arya. Many more were at breakfast, including Tyrion, Bronn, and Pod at lower tables. Lord Manderly and Lady Mormont and many more Northerners were also nearby, as were Tormund and many of the wildlings. As they walked past his table Tormund gave Brienne a lusty look which she ignored. The Queen was not here, Sansa was surprised to see.

They walked up to the head table and Sansa dipped her head to Bran. "My lord," she said in a loud voice. "Good morning. Sandor Clegane would like to ask something of you."

Bran seemed surprised by her actions. "Sansa you don't…nevermind. So, Sandor Clegane, what do you wish?"

"To serve…my lord. I want…I want to serve you, and Winterfell. I pledge my sword to your house."

Tyrion spoke up. "Just a moment. Clegane you are a bannerman to my house. And with my brother soon to be in exile, I am the head of House Lannister."

"I don't serve you lot anymore," the Hound snarled at him. "Your father put a price on my head. And you killed him and ran away. Your sister is a murderous whore and your brother killed the man he was supposed to protect…and maybe did other crimes as well. I am done with House Lannister. Piss on all of you."

Arya laughed and many more smiled or tried to hide their laughter behind hands or cups.

Tyrion sighed. "Very well. I release you from your ties to House Lannister. You may serve who you wish. By the way, it is customary to get down on one knee when making such a pledge."

The Hound turned and snarled at him again. "Mind your business, Imp."

"You won't get him on his knees," Arya shouted.

But to their surprised he did so and repeated the oath, though not as well said as when Brienne had pledged herself to Sansa. Bran now looked lost. "What do I do?"

Ser Davos stood by Bran's side and whispered in his ear. Then Bran spoke. "I vow you should always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table. I pledge to ask…no service of you that might…might…"

He forgot and Sansa quickly spoke. "…bring you dishonor."

"To bring you dishonor," Bran repeated. "I swear it by all the gods, old and new. Rise, Sandor Clegane."

He stood. "Thank you, my lord."

"Your turn Bronn!" Arya called out.

"Afraid not," the sellsword said. "I sell my sword, and now I have just sold it back to Lord Tyrion here."

Sansa had already paid Bronn a thousand gold dragons for helping bring Arya home and thought he would stay with them. Arya now looked a bit disappointed. "Not to worry," Tyrion said. "The fearless Bronn will not abandon his post while there is fighting yet to be done. As for me, where the Queen goes I go….so here for now. Speaking of which, where is our lovely leader?"

"In the godswood," Jon said. "With her dragons. I will get her. It is time we discussed many things."

"Yes," said Bran. "And then we look for Lightbringer."

Jon hesitated a moment, and then he left the hall. Sansa sat at the head table while Brienne and the Hound took seats lower down, but not together.

"He doesn't believe it," Arya said as Sansa filled a plate with bread and cheese and meat. "About him being the prince. About the sword."

"Maybe it is all lies," Sansa replied.

"No," said Bran. "The Queen told Jon while they were flying here about an archmaester who found evidence of the myth in Oldtown. It said Azor Ahai was buried here in Winterfell!"

"What?" Sansa said as she was about to eat some bread and cheese. "But…does that mean the sword is here too?"

"Maybe," Davos said. "But Jon seems reluctant to believe it. He doesn't want to be king, he doesn't want to be this prince…he just wants to be left alone."

"Can you blame him?" Meera said. "After all he went through."

"Aye," said Davos. "But we need him. It is not over yet."

Not over yet…the wights were still out there…somewhere. The Night King was not dead, and would rebuild his armies, somehow.

The Queen and Jon returned and soon the great hall was near empty. After the Queen was introduced to many she had not yet met, the Stark family, the Queen, Tyrion, Lord Manderly, Lady Mormont, and Ser Davos were seated around a large table on the main floor, with Brienne, the Hound, Bronn, and Pod off at a far table in case they needed them. Tormund and some of his wildings were sent off on patrol to see what they could find, and Dondarrion, Thoros, and many more manned the gates and walls. As for Jaime Lannister, he was still in his tower prison, and would remain there until they decided want to do with him.

The Queen opened with this, to get it out of the way. "Lord Jaime is commander of a large force we may need in the future," she said. "I made promises to him. When the wars are done, he will go into exile."

Arya was mad. "Promises to a man who hurt our brother. He cannot be allowed to go free."

Tyrion sighed. "My lady, you claim he pushed Lord Stark from the tower but when I asked what evidence do you have for this you remained silent. Is there any shred of proof my brother did this?"

"None," Jon said. Arya looked to protest but then said nothing. Bran spoke up.

"I remember nothing," he said, and the Queen then spoke from her heart.

"I too have reasons to see this man punished in some way. He killed my father. There is no doubt about that. He confessed it."

"Then why isn't he dead?" Arya almost shouted. "Sorry…Your Grace."

"No, I understand your anger. I feel it as well. But why he killed my father is important. By all accounts he was raving mad…and he did murder your uncle and grandfather and many more. He would have destroyed King's Landing if Jaime had not stopped him. Yet he was still my father. So, the punishment may not seem to fit the crime, but I have made my promises and will stand by them. Can we all agree on this much?"

No one said anything and then Jon spoke. "Send him into exile…but now, Your Grace. We can find a ship at White Harbor and send him on his way."

"Aye," said Lord Manderly. "The fastest galley I have."

"The sooner the better," Davos added.

The Queen was taken aback. "But…the Lannister army…"

"Has other commanders, Your Grace," Ser Davos said. "Is this not so, Lord Tyrion?"

Tyrion looked pained at what was happening. "Yes, quite so. Men who know more of war than my brother, who served as a glorified bodyguard for more than twenty some years. Yet I wonder if we are not being too hasty here."

All looked to the Queen. She hesitated and then agreed. "Very well. It shall be done. He will be sent into exile at the first opportunity."

"And what of Cersei Lannister, Your Grace?" Ser Davos asked.

"She will be tried and duly punished," Daenerys said and no one raised any objection to that. "Now, to other business," she continued. "Jon Snow and I have agreed that I will be Queen of all Westeros and he will be King of the North, and Lord Stark…"

"I resign," Jon said suddenly.

Lord Manderly cursed. "Damnit. We named you king, for gods' sake!"

"I know, and I am sorry, my lord," Jon said. "But I never wanted the title. I took it because you all wanted me to have it. In fact, I believe I have no right to it, and felt this way for some time. Now you all know who my real father was. I am not Lord Eddard Stark's son, nor King Robb's brother. Bran is Lord of Winterfell now and Sansa is his heir. Me…I am no one."

"Not no one," the Queen said, voicing what they all felt. "You have done more than anyone to save the realm from the demons."

"We'd all be dead now if not for you," Lady Mormont added. "But I understand why you do not want to be king. Leadership is a heavy burden."

"Aye, it is," said Jon. Then he looked in turn at Lady Mormont, Lord Manderly, and Bran. "As the three remaining great lords of the North I ask leave to resign as King of the North. I also ask that the title never be revived as long as a queen or king of good standing rules the realm."

Bran answered at once. "Yes. Whatever you want, Jon."

Lady Mormont spoke next. "I would rather have you as my king, but if it is your wish, I will agree."

Lord Manderly did not look at Jon but stared at the Queen. "Three hundred long years we have been ruled from afar. I went to war with your family because of the things your father did. But it seems you have not the same streak of madness he had. So once more I will bend the knee…but know that the North remembers what your family once did, and be advised that we are not to be taken lightly by you or your heirs."

Sansa was a bit shocked by his words to a Queen, but Daenerys did not take them badly. If fact she smiled. "Lord Manderly, with such fierce warriors as you here I would never dream of angering the North."

Lord Manderly smiled and then laughed. "By gods, I like her."

"Aye," said Jon. "Then we all agree. The King of the North is no more?"

"Aye," they each said in turn and Jon seemed relieved of the burden he had never wanted. And then Lord Manderly stood and took out his sword and then got down on one knee before the Queen's chair and laid his sword at her feet. Lady Mormont did the same, though she had no sword.

"I swear my and my house's loyalty to you, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the First of Your Name," Lord Manderly said. Lady Mormont repeated the gesture. And then Bran said the same, though he could not kneel.

"I welcome you and your houses as my loyal subjects, my lords and lady," the Queen said. They sat again and the Queen continued to speak. "Well. That brings me to our next point. Jon Snow, if you will not rule the North then I have another task for you."

"Aye, Your Grace?" he asked.

"If you will agree, you will be my heir until I have a child."

All were shocked at this news. Sansa could scarce believe it. Jon, one step away from the Iron Throne.

Jon was equally stunned. "Your Grace, I am flattered, but I am bastard born and cannot inherit."

"That can be taken care of," Tyrion said, who seemed unsurprised by this news. "A grant of legitimacy will solve all this."

"I must think on this," said Jon.

"Very well," Daenerys replied.

"Is that it?" said Bran. "Can we look for Lightbringer now?"

But before anyone could answer Maester Wolkan came in with a raven scroll in hand. "For the Queen," he said with a dip of his head. He handed over the message and then waited as she read.

Daenerys sighed heavily and then sat and handed the note to Tyrion. "Gods," Tyrion said and then Sansa almost thought she saw him grin a bit.

"What has happened?" Jon asked in worry.

"Cersei Lannister has killed Ellaria Sand," the Queen told them.

"Who?" Bran asked.

"The leader of Dorne," Tyrion said. Then he frowned. "Cersei was under guard of Lord Tarly's men at the time, and stole a dagger to do the deed. Dorne and the Reach are at odds."

The Queen stood. "I must write back at once. Tyrion, please come with me." All stood and dipped their heads to her and then Daenerys and Tyrion followed the maester out the doors of the great hall.

All of them now looked to Jon and Bran spoke. "It is time to look for the sword."

Jon sighed and then agreed. "Let us do this and have it out of the way so there will be no more talk on it."

"Where will we search?" Ser Davos asked.

"The crypts," Bran said. "The lowest levels. That's where Azor Ahai must be buried."

"And what if we don't find the sword?" Arya asked. "What does it mean?"

"Nothing," Jon said. "It just means we are chasing a myth, that's all. No magic will destroy the wights. Only fire and steel will do that."

They moved out of the great hall, the Hound carrying Bran, and towards the entrance to the crypts they went. But they hadn't gone far when shouts came from high up on the walls. A wildling patrol was returning. The east gate opened and Tormund and many of his people rode in on their horses. Tormund leaped off and went straight to Jon.

"We found them," he said.

"Where?"

"In the forests, out there, and more coming down the Kingsroad."

"I thought the dragons destroyed them all," Bran said.

"Not all," Jon told him. "How many did you see?" he asked Tormund.

"Not many, a hundred maybe, just standing there among the trees, looking at us. They made no move to attack. Then we spotted a column of them coming down the Kingsroad, but they melted into the trees when they saw us. Maybe a few hundred more."

The news they passed onto the Queen after she and Tyrion came out of the maesters' chambers.

"I will fly up and see what I can see," she said. "Jon…it is time for you to ride as well."

The rest could only stare at Jon. "You can ride a dragon?" Arya asked in awe.

"No," Jon said.

"Not yet," said the Queen. "It is time to learn."

Jon seemed reluctant but then nodded. "As you wish."

The Queen looked to the rest. "I am sorry, but it would be better if no one else came into the godswood with us. The dragons may be skittish around so many people."

"You best not let them beasts eat him," Tormund said and the Queen laughed.

"They will not harm him," she said. "He is the blood of the dragons after all. He is a Targaryen."

She and Jon walked off to the godswood by themselves as Arya muttered under her breath. "Stark. He is a Stark and always will be to me."

"Aye," said Sansa and then she and Arya shared a look and smiled.

Ser Davos looked at Tyrion. "What did you write to King's Landing?"

"Our news. Also, we told Varys to keep the peace anyway he could until the Queen returns."

"And what about Dorne?" Sansa asked. "Who will lead them now?"

"I care not for that cesspool," Tyrion said with some vehemence in his voice. "They killed Myrcella. That's why Cersei did it. And I am glad. Ellaria Sand forgot that a Lannister always pays his debts. Or hers, in this case."

Sansa felt a bit glad also. She remembered the times she had spent with Myrcella in King's Landing. A pleasant girl, unlike her brother Joffrey. And then came the unwanted memory, of the day Myrcella was sent off to Dorne, and the riot that followed, where Sansa had almost been raped and killed. She turned to where the Hound was standing by Bran's side as Bran sat on the edge of a saw horse near the carpenter's work area. Sandor had one hand on Bran's shoulder to make sure he did not tip over. He had saved her life, and prevented her from being raped…but in the end she had been raped, by her second husband, and Sandor had not been there to stop that…no one had, but Theon, and he was so far gone in terror and madness he could never have stopped Ramsey.

Sansa came out of her memories as Arya shouted. "He's flying!"

There out of the godswood the three dragons arose, the Queen on the black one and Jon on the white one, with the green following them. Jon seemed to be hanging on for dear life, but he was on a dragon, and he was flying. They circled the castle once as everyone cheered and then they flew off to the north.

"Now, let us look for Lightbringer," Bran said in an impatient tone.

Ser Davos spoke. "If you beg my forgiveness, my lord, I should look to the defenses."

"Aye," said Tormund and he and Davos walked away.

"I am sure you can do without me as well," said Tyrion. "Much as I would like to see the fabled sword, going into dark crypts on my stunted legs would not be very wise. Bronn will hold up my end of things. Won't you, Bronn?"

"Haven't I always?" said the sellsword with raised eyebrows.

"Indeed you have," said Tyrion. "I am off to see my brother to convey good news and bad."

"I will go with you," Sansa said on impulse. She too had no desire to go crawling around in the lower level dark creepy crypts on what might turn out to be a chase for nothing.

Tyrion nodded. "Fine."

They found Jaime Lannister lying on his bed reading a book. He looked around the book as the door opened and they came in and then he sat up.

"Ah, the fierce Stark heads woman. Is it my turn for the block?" he asked in a mocking tone that irritated Sansa.

"No," she said. "And how do you know…?"

"My guards have big mouths," he replied. "Baelish is no more, and the realm will breathe easier for it. So if not the block, what fate have you all decided for me?"

"Exile, as promised," Tyrion said.

"Well, as I expected."

"Not quite," his brother continued. "The Starks demand you be dealt with immediately…so soon you will go to White Harbor and then across the Narrow Sea."

"The Queen. I must speak with her. She will…" Jaime began, getting angry, but Sansa interrupted him.

"The Queen has agreed with us," Sansa said in a sharp tone. "You will set sail as soon as possible…never to return."

"But…Cersei…Tyrion, I have to see her, to explain about…things."

"Cersei is in her own hot water," Tyrion said. "She is in the capital now, and has killed Ellaria Sand."

Jaime was taken aback by this news. "Really? Cersei killed her?"

"Yes," Tyrion replied and he quickly explained the event as best as they knew it.

"Good," Jaime said when his brother was done. "Now Myrcella can have some peace."

"Quite so," Tyrion replied quietly. Sansa knew as did most of the realm that Myrcella was really Jaime's daughter. He seemed on the verge of weeping but controlled himself and then grinned at his brother.

"So," Jaime said. "Off to the east with me, is it? And how will I live? I have had no time to take care of matters."

"Not to worry," said Tyrion. "I will be Lord of Casterly Rock now. I will send funds wherever you are, through the Iron Bank."

"Yes…thank you…my lord," Jaime said with a dip of his head.

"Jaime…if you have any words for Cersei, best you tell me, for I fear you will never see her again," Tyrion said.

"Perhaps it would be best if I wrote a letter for Cersei."

"Of course," Tyrion said. Then he looked at Sansa. "My brother and I need have words in private. Could you ask someone to bring ink and parchment for him?"

"Yes…but before I go I want to say one thing," Sansa replied and then she glared at Jaime. "I know in my heart you hurt Bran. We all know. The Queen is protecting you for whatever reasons we cannot not fully understand, even though you killed her father. You hurt our brother, and that we will never forgive. If you ever set foot in Westeros again my family will see you dead no matter what it takes."

He sat there and took it and said nothing. When she was done, he sighed and nodded. "Very well. Fair warned."

Sansa left before she let her anger grow anymore. She asked the maester to bring the ink and parchment to Jaime and then she went off to see what was happening about the search for the sword. She was not sure if she believed the legends, but if they were true and Jon was this prince, then he would need this sword for whatever battles were to come.

* * *

 **Highgarden – Samwell**

Five days they were on the road from Oldtown to Highgarden, a remarkable speed for the conditions. The further they went north the colder and worse the weather got. Sam and Alleras bought good horses and both knew how to ride, but rains lashed at them and snow fell twice more on their journey. Sam had enough coin for good rooms in inns and fine meals but he started to worry he would spend it all too soon, so after a few days they started eating less well and sharing rooms in inns.

And so on the fourth day Sam found out Alleras' secret.

He walked into the room unexpectedly and Alleras was naked, washing with a bucket of hot water. To Sam's utter shock and confusion it seemed that Alleras was a girl!

He staggered back out of the room, apologizing profusely, and then he went down to the common room and ordered a mug of ale. He took a table in the mostly empty room and sat there, unsure of all in the world, when he…she…arrived…still dressed as a boy…a man.

"Sam…we must talk," she said.

"Yes," he said, not trusting himself to look at her.

"Sam…look at me."

He did so and felt his face turn red. "I'm sorry!" he said, a little too loud. Then his voice dropped to a bare whisper. "I didn't know. I thought you were…I mean…everyone did."

"Yes, I know what you mean. Sam, I was hiding who I truly am for a good reason. Can you understand why?"

He nodded, thinking on this as he sat drinking his ale. "They don't allow girls into the Citadel."

"Right. It's so unfair. I wanted to be maester for a long time. So when I told my father this desire, he told me to do what I must."

"Your father knows?"

"Of course. I could never lie to him. But now he is dead, so it matters not."

"I am sorry. Was he a lord?"

"No…he was a prince."

"A prince?"

"My father was Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne."

Sam was stunned. He knew Alleras was from Dorne, but did not know he…she…was of such high birth.

"Oh…sorry, Alleras. About your father I mean."

"Sarella…my real name is Sarella."

Sam thought on this and then smile. "Oh. Alleras is Sarella…"

"Backwords, yes. I thought it clever when I made it, but maybe not so clever now. The grey mice will start questioning people about us. Soon they may uncover my secret. They are not teachers at the Citadel because they lack any wits."

"For certain," Sam agreed. Then he knew what they had to do. "We must press on and reach Highgarden soon. My family name will gain me entrance to see Olenna Tyrell. She is the leader there now my mother told me. She can protect us from the grey mice."

"The Reach has no love for Dorne."

"Not to worry. I will take care of everything."

"Sam…we killed Leo Tyrell."

"Oh…right." That would be a problem. Then Sam remembered and brightened a bit. "But he was trying to kill me."

"How can we prove that?"

Sam's face fell. "We can't."

"No, we can't," she said. "I am sure the Citadel has already sent on word of what we did."

Sam knew she was right. "Then maybe we should avoid Highgarden."

But it was not possible. They had hardly left the inn the next morning when a heavy horse patrol of men at arms and two knights intercepted them on the road.

"Samwell Tarly," the leader said. "Your presence is requested in Highgarden."

They did not move to take their weapons or harm them in anyway. "My companion comes with me," Sam declared.

"He is wanted as well," the leader said.

"Why?" asked Sarella.

"They did not tell me. I am sure that you will know soon."

As they rode into the cold late morning the great city began to loom ahead in the distance, rising on a great hill, its buildings shining white in the morning sun, trees dominating the spaces between. Sam had been to Highgarden twice in his life. The first time he was a small boy, brought here when his father had paid homage to his Tyrell lords. That was when he was still so young his father had not yet despaired of him becoming a man. The second time he had been here was when his father had finally had enough of him. He had passed through the city on the way to the Wall. The memory of that time he cared not to recall.

Their escorts were mainly silent, and so was Sarella. Sam wondered if the men knew she was a woman, but by their attitude it seemed not. On they rode, until it was well past the noon hour and Sam's stomach grumbled. They were passing villages and small towns now, out lying the great city, and they passed by several open air markets, where fruit and vegetables and many other delicious things were for sale

"Can't we stop to eat?" Sam finally asked.

The leader grunted. "No. Soon we will be in the city."

"Eat, he wants," another man said. "Looks like all you've done all your life is eat, tubby."

"Enough of that," said the leader.

"Don't you know tubby is a great lord's son?" another man asked.

"Like hell," said the first one. "So, tubby, you a great lord's son? You…oh, gods…you're a Tarly. Not Lord Tarly's son?" The last was said with an incredulous tone.

"He is," said the leader.

"I thought Lord Tarly's son died on the Blackwater," said a third rider.

"He did," Sam said. "I'm his other son. The one he sent to the Wall."

"Enough talk."

They entered the city an hour later and rode though its streets to the high castle on the center of the hill, the seat of the Tyrell family. The city was crowded and busy and smelled fresh, the sent of flowers and grass and trees, though Sam saw that many of the city's fabled gardens were now without blooms, for winter had come to the south at last, and a dusting of snow was present in places on the ground. The people looked fresh as well, happy and smiling, and well-fed, for no war had touched their lands…not yet.

At the entrance to the castle the knights and men at arms handed them over to some Tyrell guards who took away their weapons and then escorted them down long corridors to an ornate room where they met the fabled Olenna Tyrell.

She was sitting at a table that was laden with many dishes of food and the smell made Sam's mouth water. With her were some men and women, none of whom Sam knew. But he knew her. She was old to be sure, short and heavy, grey and wrinkled, but Sam saw a spark in her eyes that made him wary. He had met her, those long years ago, and she remembered.

Olenna stood from her chair as the guards began to introduce Sam and Sarella. "Lady Olenna, I bring you…"

"I know who they are," she snapped at the guards. "Away with you." They left without another word. "The rest of you too." Everyone else got up and left without a word as well.

"Samwell Tarly, not a sniveling small boy anymore," Lady Olenna said as she walked towards them. "A man of the Watch. A maester in training." Then her eyes shifted to Sarella. "Riding with Oberyn Martell's daughter."

Sarella could not help but gasp. "How do you know?"

"I have had a bird from the Citadel. They were not fooled by your disguise, or the simple change in your name."

"Then why was I not kicked out?"

"Who knows what those grey fools think? Maybe they were using you as a test, to see if women actually have any brains. Of course, I could have told those idiots that there was no doubt of that, years ago. Come, sit, and eat. We have much to talk on…not all good I am afraid."

Sam hesitated. "My lady…do you know what we did in Oldtown?"

"Yes, yes. You killed Leo Tyrell. They found his body in the ruins after the fire was put out. A fire you two ran away from and then disappeared from the city. An arrow head was found buried in his brains, what little he had. Not that too many will shed any tears over Lazy Leo. Still…I will have your reasons for it. Come, sit, eat."

They sat and Sam found that despite his hunger he could not eat until he explained himself. So he spoke, at length, and told her it all, even about Jon, which even Sarella did not know, and to her credit Lady Olenna did not interrupt. Finally when he was done she nodded. "A reasonable story, with a sprinkle of myth laced through it. Where is this Marwyn now?"

"Hopefully in King's Landing," Sam told her. "It's all true, about the White Walkers, and about Jon Snow, and…"

Now she interrupted. "More than many thought. We have had word from the North. The Wall has fallen."

Sam gasped. "Fallen? How?"

"That much was not explained. But it fell, and the demons caused it. Many died…including some of your Night's Watch brothers."

Sam gulped. "Jon?"

"No, not the so called King of the North. Not yet as far as I know. The word is Daenerys Targaryen is on her way to the North on her dragons."

Sam sighed. "Then all will be well." He reached for some bread and began to eat.

"That is yet to be seen," Lady Olenna said. "So…what am I to do with you two?"

Sarella spoke. "If you believe our reasons for killing Leo Tyrell are justified, send us on our way, my lady."

"Justified, maybe. But he was a Tyrell and so few of us are left. Well, I can't make up my mind. Perhaps when we get to King's Landing I will think of some suitable punishment."

"King's Landing?" Sam said in surprise.

"Yes. I am coming with you to that cesspool," Olenna said. "Before I die I want to see dragons. And there is more. Cersei Lannister has been captured and will soon be in the city. I have every intention of being there when she burns at the stake."

 ** _Author's Note: Well, looks like I will still need one or two more chapters to wrap this up. Like most plans, mine went astray in the execution._**


	13. Chapter 13

**Game of Thrones Season 7 Chapter 13**

 **Winterfell – Jon**

Jon Snow was not having fun. In fact, he could not remember the last time he had any fun, but riding a dragon by himself he would never call fun. He was terrified and he did not like the feeling at all. He would rather face the whole Bolton army again by himself.

"Just hang on," the Queen told him, as if Jon would ever dare think of letting go. The back of the white dragon named Viserion was hard and boney and hot. He grasped two of the spiny protrusions near where the neck joined the body and hung on for life. He did not know how to make it turn or go up and down but it seemed like it just wanted to follow its bigger brother Drogon that the Queen was riding. The green dragon Rhaegal was to the left of where Jon was on Viserion, the three dragons formed up like an arrowhead with Drogon at the point. Jon was fine with that as long as the dragon did not do anything too violent that could shake him off its back.

Up the Kingsroad they went, towards where Tormund had said he had seen the wights. Jon looked down and after a brief moment of dizziness he got control of himself. It was no different then looking over the edge of the Wall…well, almost no different. At least on the Wall he had his feet on something. Here he was at the mercy of the dragon's whims.

As he looked he saw nothing but trees and whiteness, no wights and Walkers anywhere. On they flew a few miles up the Kingsroad and then they circled back and finally the Queen shouted across to him.

"Nothing to see!"

He nodded once and then all three dragons headed back to Winterfell where they landed in the godswood.

"How was it?" Daenerys asked as Jon climbed off the back of Viserion.

"Fine," he lied as he tried to steady his feet and she knew it was a lie.

"I was scared my first time, too. Exhilarated and scared. It was so unexpected because it was not something I had planned, but I had to do it."

"What happened?" Jon asked.

"In Meereen I was surrounded by enemies in the great fighting pit, with no way out, and then Drogon saved me and Tyrion and many more. Drogon flew out of nowhere. I hadn't seen him in weeks…but there he was, coming to rescue me." She looked with admiration at her dragon.

"How did he know you were in danger?"

"I don't know. But you must understand there is a connection between them and our family Jon. We are bonded for life once we ride one. You and Viserion will not be parted."

"I guess that means I am a true Targaryen."

"Yes. Do not doubt it. We are of the same blood. And that brings me to another matter. The matter of being my heir."

Jon hesitated and then nodded. "As you wish. But when you have a child, I will step aside."

"Of course. If I have a child, you will be free of this obligation."

"If?"

Her cheeks seemed to redden. "Sorry. I meant 'when'. Perhaps I said 'if' because I have no husband as yet…and no suitors."

Jon now felt himself blush slightly for she was so very beautiful and now seemed so vulnerable as well. But she was also his aunt and that made it even more awkward. He covered up his unease by turning away slightly, unable to trust himself to look at her, and with some sideways flattery. "I find that hard to believe. Has no one asked for your hand?"

"They have…but it is complicated. I…I don't wish to speak on it now. Perhaps later. Let us care for the dragons first."

They chained the dragons up, Jon thinking on what the Queen's words meant but he had no idea. He knew nothing about this woman, who was his queen, and his aunt. He knew little of her life, except a bit of what she had been through as a child, running and hiding from Robert Baratheon's agents. Other than that Jon knew nothing.

After the dragons were tethered again she spoke to Drogon in High Valyrian, but Jon did not understand the words.

"I suppose I should learn High Valyrian as well," he said.

"It would be helpful. A few lessons I can give you, some simple commands they will understand."

"What about Rhaegal? Who will ride him?"

"I don't know. Three riders there should be. In the east I had a dream one night. My brother Rhaegar, your father, he came to me and told me there must be three riders for three dragons. I thought long on who the other two riders would be. I never knew of you until recently. It is certain you are the second rider now. As for the third maybe I have an idea. There is one person who might…"

But they were interrupted by Tyrion and Ser Davos and Tormund coming to meet them.

"What news, my Queen?" Tyrion asked.

"No news," she replied. "We saw nothing."

"They were there," Tormund insisted. "All my patrol saw them."

"I know you saw them," Jon said. "But we saw nothing from the air. They must be hidden in the forests. Perhaps we had better take a patrol on foot, with the Queen overhead on Drogon. Draw them out, and destroy them."

"A sound plan," said Ser Davos. "But first there is one more thing to do."

"What?" Jon asked.

Tyrion looked at him with a sense of awe. "They found the sword."

"What…you mean Lightbringer?" Jon asked in surprise.

"They found a sword," said Tormund, sounding a bit skeptical. "Young Arya thinks it is the real thing. This Lightbringer."

"Where is the sword now?" Daenerys asked.

"In the crypts, Your Grace," Davos told them. "They found a statue at the lowest levels, old, crumbling, but unlike any other king's statue. No beard, no direwolf at its feet. The sword is real, not a mark on it, no rust, after all these years. It was it the statue's hand, lying across its lap. They tried to take the sword but it would not budge. Lord Brandon says only you can lift it."

"Or it is frozen tight to the statue," Jon suggested.

"I think not," said Tyrion. "Gendry came out with the message. He said it is so very hot down there, with water knee deep and very warm. The castle rests on a pool of volcanic lava, I am guessing."

"Aye, maybe so," said Jon, though he was not certain. Winterfell had always been warm inside, even now in the coldest winter. Hot springs bubbled up from below and hot water flowed through channels in the walls of the main buildings, all designed and built many centuries ago.

They found the blacksmith Gendry outside the crypt entrance. Jon knew little of him except that he was Robert Baratheon's son and Arya and he had had some wild adventures and now she seemed to be in love with him. And he with her.

Gendry dipped his head as they approached. "Your Grace, my lords."

"What news?" the Queen asked as she stared at him.

"They are waiting for him," Gendry said as he looked at Jon with a bit of awe. Gods, not him too.

"They tell me you are Robert Baratheon's son," the Queen said suddenly, and Jon thought he heard Tyrion groan.

"Bastard son," Gendry said and then quickly added, "Your Grace."

"Quite so," said Tyrion quickly as he stepped forward. "With no claims or desire for any…"

"Relax," Daenerys said to her Hand. "I do not think he means to throw me off the Iron Throne."

"Never," said Gendry, aghast at what was being suggested.

"Your Grace," said Davos. "Gendry has proven his loyalty in many ways, and I will vouch for him if there are any doubts at all."

"I see," she said. "Tell me Ser Davos, who is leader of the Baratheon family now?"

"Ah…uncertain, Your Grace. Robert, Stannis, and Renly are all dead. With the death of Shireen and all of Cersei Lannister's children as well there is no heir. Maybe a cousin somewhere, but…oh."

Then he understood as did Tyrion. "Yes, he would do nicely," said Tyrion. "Of course, you would have to make him a true Baratheon."

"What is going on?" Gendry asked in confusion.

Jon ginned. "I think you are about to become a great lord of the realm."

"Maybe," said the Queen. "I need think on this."

Gendry stood there in shock and finally Jon broke the silence. "So, where is this sword?"

The blacksmith held a lantern as he led them deep underground, down one, two, three levels on old stone stairs. As they went deeper the air grew warmer, and then it became hot, almost like a summer day. Jon felt the sweat trickle down his back as they reached the lowest level. Water knee deep flooded the floor between rows of statues of the old kings of the North.

At the far end they saw people with more lanterns and torches, the whole long room lit up. On each side sat ten statues, each of a bearded man with a direwolf at his feet. The statues were on raised stone so the water barely lapped at their feet. On the lap of each statue was a sword, held by the right hand. As they sloshed through the water if felt warm.

The Hound, Bronn, Brienne, Podrick, Sansa, Arya, and Bran were standing by two statues that were on the far end of the cavern, facing down the length of the room, looking between the rows of statues. All were standing in the water, except Bran, who was sitting on the edge of a nearby statue, the Hound close by his side.

"Jon, we found…" Arya said and then she saw the Queen was with them. "Your Grace."

"Do not mind me," Daenerys said.

"Er, yes. So, Jon," Arya continued. "We found Lightbringer!" She could not hide her excitement.

Not everyone believed it. The Hound scoffed. "It's just a sword."

"A clean sword," said Bronn as he held a torch near the lap of the statue. Jon stepped forward and saw how the statue differed from the rest. It was of a clean shaven man, and his facial features seemed odd, smooth, with a small nose and narrow eyes, though that may have been a trick of the poor light. His clothing seemed like of the North, but he had no direwolf at his feet. And Bronn was right about the sword. It was clean, the blade shining in the light, unlike the others they had passed on the kingly statues, all rusted or caked in dust and some green growths. To the left of the statue sat another one, this one clearly of a man of the North, with a heavy beard, a direwolf at his feet, a rusted iron sword on his lap. This king seemed very old, the carved stone made to show his wrinkles and age.

Jon looked at Bran. "Is it who I think it is?"

Bran nodded. "Yes. Brandon the Builder and Azor Ahai…at least the statues look similar to the two men I saw in my vision. If it was them, then this must be his sword."

"Here all this time," Tyrion said with a sad shake of his head. "Living with history so near."

Now the others parted and Jon stepped forward and peered closely at the sword. There was nothing special about it. A plain blade, double edged, with a sharp tapering point, about three feet long, like most swords. The hilt was plain as well, nothing ornate or special at all.

"Pick it up," said Arya, almost breathless.

Jon started to move forward, but then Tyrion spoke again. "No…let the Queen try first."

"What?" said Arya in disbelief. "She can't be…sorry, Your Grace, but how can you be the Prince?"

"The legend is unclear on whether it is a man or a woman," Tyrion explained.

"Where did you hear of this legend?" Sansa asked.

"From an archmaester of Oldtown," Daenerys explained. She looked at Jon. "He was the one who told me about Sam and your true birth. He said the heir of Azor Ahai had to be one of us."

"Aye," Jon said. "Best you try first."

Everyone stepped back as she stepped forward. Jon watched Arya and saw she was mad, but said nothing. Arya wanted him to be this prince, the great hero who would save them. He believed the others felt the same, even the Hound and Bronn, the two most skeptical. They wanted someone to save them…and once more Jon felt the heavy burden of responsibility. In his heart he knew it was not the Queen, knew it had to be him, who had fought against the ancient enemy for so long. But also he secretly hoped it would be her, so he could be freed of some of his burdens. He would never speak on this to anyone, for they all saw him as a hero who could save them. To say he was just a man would shatter their hopes.

The hilt of the sword lay in the statue's right hand but the fingers did not grasp it and the hilt extended a bit beyond the hand. Daenerys reached out with her right hand and gripped the hilt end and lifted…

…and nothing happened.

She tried to put some strength into it but still it would not budge.

"Hah!" said Arya in almost triumph and then she realized how rude she had been. "Sorry, Your Grace."

Daenerys let out a breath, as if she seemed relieved. "Not at all," she said to Arya. "It seems I am not the legend reborn." Jon sensed she was not the least bit disappointed by this news.

Now all eyes were on Jon. Bran spoke. "It must be Jon."

"Or no one," said Bronn. Everyone gave him dirty looks and he just shrugged.

Davos cut through the tension. "Right. Let's get on with it then. My feet are wet and I don't fancy standing in this water much longer."

Jon took a deep breath and stepped forward. He took off the glove on his right hand and felt the heavy tension among the onlookers as he reached forward and touched the hilt of the sword.

The hilt was bare, not wrapped in leather strips as many sword hilts were. The metal felt warm at his touch, not the cold of steel he had expected. He wrapped his hands around the hilt end and gave a tug…

…and the sword came free! He held it up and it felt light, lighter than Longclaw had ever felt, and it also felt as it was alive, as if a pulse was flowing through the sword…a heartbeat.

And then the shocking thing happened. Light began to flow from the hilt to the tip, as if the sword was on fire, but it was not a fire, it was a glow, a deep glow that filled the whole cavern with light and heat.

"Gods!" Arya and Sansa gasped.

"It is him," Brienne added in an awed tone.

"The Prince!" Tyrion shouted.

"Bloody hell," said Bronn and the Hound at almost the same time.

"I knew it would be you," Bran said as he tried to shield his eyes from the light.

Daenerys touched his arm, and Jon saw the fur on the collar of her cape was smoking as if it was about to burst into flame. Now he noticed the rest were beating out little fires on their clothing and all around him the water was steaming. "Jon," the Queen said. "It's so hot, we are…"

Jon dropped the sword. Instantly the light and heat were gone…and so was the sword, in the water.

"The sword!" Arya shouted and she dove for the water. Others reached down as well and it was Gendry who picked it up…but no light and heat came from it.

He examined the sword, then shrugged. "Just a sword."

"Valyrian steel?" the Hound asked.

Gendry shook his head. "Don't think so. But…it feels…"

"Alive," Jon said and Gendry nodded.

"Yes…alive."

One by one they all held the sword and they all felt the same thing, as if a heart was beating in the sword.

"Azor Ahai's wife," said Tyrion as he grasped the hilt. "He killed her to make the sword, by driving the hot metal into her beating heart."

"A legend," said the Queen.

"Maybe," said Jon. "But we all felt it."

"But why did it only light up for Jon?" Sansa asked.

"Because he is the Prince," said Tormund from the back of the group. He had said nothing until now, and had not touched the sword. "Bloody hell, Snow. I would not kiss a king's arse, so I certainly won't kiss a prince's."

They all had a chuckle at that. Finally Tyrion held the sword out to Jon. "Your scabbard," Tyrion said. "Until we can test it and see what power it has, you should keep it out of hand."

Jon loosened Longclaw from his scabbard and handed it to Gendry. "Don't lose it," he said, very serious. He knew Longclaw could kill Walkers, but not what this new sword could do. Tyrion gently slid it into the scabbard. It did not quite fit, being a bit longer than Longclaw.

"What should we do about this news, my lords?" the Queen asked.

"Tell no one," Davos suggested. "No one can know."

"How can we hide this?" asked Sansa. "Many in the castle know we are searching for the sword."

"Tell them we found nothing," said Bronn. "Just a wild chase for a rumor."

"Aye," Jon agreed. "We don't even know if it can kill wights or Walkers."

"It must," said Bran. "How else did they defeat them eight thousand years ago?"

No one had an answer. "Well, if that is all, my lords and ladies," said Davos. "I think we had best get out of here, dry off, and discuss our next step."

"Find the enemy, and kill them," said the Hound.

"Yes," said the Queen.

But the enemy they could not find. A large patrol went out on foot, with the Queen overhead on her dragon, but no sign of the enemy did they find.

"Where did they go?" Jon asked, and no one had any answers. The war was not over yet, and until the enemy came to them, it seemed they would have to maintain a constant vigilance.

* * *

 **King's Landing – Samwell**

The journey up the Roseroad to King's Landing took ten days, and it was not without trouble. One good thing was that they traveled in comfort, befitting the rank of Lady Olenna Tyrell. Sam and Sarella sat in a large carriage with her, despite the protest of her guards who said Sam and Sarella could not be trusted.

"I trust them more than many others," the Queen of Thorns replied to her guard captain. "Get us to King's Landing and let me worry about the rest." The guard captain obeyed but insisted that their weapons not be returned to them until they reached the capital and Lady Olenna agreed on this at least. Sarella still masqueraded as a man, and Olenna did not let on to her guards she was anything but that. Or maybe she had, and kept that news to herself.

All day they moved forward, as fast as the road and weather allowed, with Lady Olenna holding court in the carriage, telling them tales of her youth and her family, cursing Cersei Lannister and relishing her coming execution, all while trying to pry as much information out of them as she could. When pressed Sam spoke at length on his adventures north of the Wall. She was particular interested in everything about Jon that Sam could tell her, trying to take the measure of the man, as she explained to Sam. Sarella was less talkative, replying only to direct questions without offering much else, and sometimes not even to those.

"She mistrusts me," Olenna said to Sam one time when Sarella did not answer her about her relationship with Ellaria Sand.

Sarella shrugged. "There is nothing to tell."

"Surely there must be something," Olenna pressed. "She is mother to your three half sisters. She was your father's lover."

"You are mistaken," Sarella said. "My father had eight daughters, bastards all. Ellaria is mother to five of my half sisters. Obara and Nymeria are not her daughters. If you believe she is a mother to us, maybe she was in some ways. But she is not my true mother. I hardly know the woman. My father's lover, that is all she is to me, nothing more."

"I see. So you hate her."

"I did not say that," Sarella protested.

"But how do you feel about her taking over all of Dorne?"

"I don't get involved in politics."

"Surely you must be concerned. After all, she had your uncle and his son killed. Your cousin he would be, would he not?"

"Not my uncle, not my cousin," Sarella countered. "Not by the laws of Westeros at least. I am a bastard, or have you already forgotten."

"But the Dornish have never held by such laws."

"Never held to them, you say," Sarella scoffed. "How little you know of Dorne. A bastard is a bastard, anywhere in Westeros. We were loved by our father, all of us, and people were kind to our face, but only because they knew of his wrath and ours if insulted. We all knew how they really felt. None of my sisters or I was ever given a chance to wed. No noble sons came courting, though the four oldest of us are of marriage age and our father was the second most powerful man in Dorne. No one wanted a bastard in their family."

Olenna sighed. "Yes, it is true what you say. The taint of blood is a curse for many." Her eyes shifted to Sam, who had sat quietly. "And now I hear you have a bastard son from a wildling woman."

"Yes, I do," he admitted. "I love her and the boy." Sam felt the sting of her calling little Sam a bastard, but would not tell them he had recently legitimized Gilly's son. His father maybe did not know yet and Sam hoped it stayed that way when he met him.

"The Wall is no place for a family," Olenna said next.

"I know," he replied heavily. "I still haven't figured that part out yet. For now they will stay in Horn Hill."

"Complications abound," Olenna said. "For both of you. Well, not to worry. I am sure it will all work out. Let us be thankful our war with the Lannisters is over at least."

Each night they stopped at a small town or castle and found rooms and food and warmth from the cold. The snow covered the road in places, but men went ahead of them to make sure villagers and townspeople were shoveling the snow away from the road as best they could. It was in one of these towns they received the shocking news that Cersei Lannister had killed Ellaria Sand.

As they entered the town a man came to Lady Olenna's carriage. He was the local administrator. "A messenger arrived on horseback from King's Landing this morning, my lady. Said he was looking for you. Said he must speak to you in private, alone."

"What now?" she said in exasperation. "Very well, take me to him." She told the captain to take care of the horses and baggage and to find rooms for them in the biggest inn.

"The bitch has claws, even in captivity," Olenna said after she told them the surprising news that Ellaria was dead at the hands of Cersei. They were sitting at dinner in the inn's common room, their guards at all the tables around them, a portly innkeeper and his servants fussing about. The messenger had told her that birds had been sent with the news as well, but they must have already been on the road when they arrived in Highgarden.

Sarella's face paled at this news. "She is dead?" Maybe she cared for Ellaria after all, Sam thought.

"Yes," said Olenna. "Stabbed in the neck by Cersei, who screamed her daughter's name when she killed Ellaria."

"Myrcella," Sam said. "Cersei's daughter is Myrcella."

"She is dead, too," Olenna said as she sipped some wine. "Apparently killed by Ellaria Sand. Poisoned." By her tone it sounded like she disapproved.

"She was a Lannister, never a Baratheon," Sarella countered. "Her grandfather killed my father's sister and her children. If Ellaria did this she was only getting revenge for my father."

"Yes," replied Olenna. "But Myrcella did not kill them. She was not even born. Are the crimes of a family passed on to their children? Where will the bloodshed ever stop?"

Sarella was not one to back down. "You say this yet you've said it often enough that you will enjoy it when Cersei screams as she burns."

"Cersei killed many, including my son and grandchildren," Olenna shot back. "Who did Myrcella kill?"

"No one," Sam said. Sarella gave him a withering look. "Sorry, but I must agree with Lady Olenna."

Sarella was full of anger. She stood and went to the stairs and went up to their rooms.

"Sorry," Sam said to Lady Olenna.

"Stop apologizing all the time," she replied, irritated. "It makes you look weak. Well, weaker. When you see your father again please show me your have some balls."

"Sor…" Sam started and then stopped himself. "I will try harder."

"Good."

The next day Sarella refused to ride in the carriage and Sam decided he would not as well, for he owed a lot to Sarella. Lady Olenna seemed not to care and ordered them to be given horses. It was colder and less comfortable than the carriage but Sam had experienced much worse cold and conditions. Sarella hardly spoke to him from then on, only to be polite. She was deep in thought, he could see, and wondered if somehow she was planning revenge on Cersei Lannister.

Five days later they arrived at the city in the early afternoon, crossing over the ice covered Blackwater. Sam had only been nearby here once, but not in the city. On his way to the Wall he and his escorts had passed the capital but had not entered. The damage to the city was apparent as they came closer. The outer walls had gaps and the Red Keep looked scarred and burnt in places. Sarella had never been here before.

"It stinks," she said as she wrinkled her nose.

"It does," replied Sam. A unique smell, one he had not experience before, a combination of sewage, rotten food, smoke, fish, salt water…and death. That smell he knew, and the smell of burnt flesh as well, for the Watch burned its dead. Apparently they had been doing the same here. On the north bank of the Blackwater were several piles of black something, which turned out to be funeral pyres as they got closer. Bones stuck out and here and there a skull seemed to be leering or laughing at them.

"A city of death," Sarella said. "I wonder what they did with Ellaria."

"I am sure they burned her as well."

"I will know more when I talk to my sisters. There, I see the Dornish sigil." She was pointing to a large group of tents set up to the west of the city on flat ground. It must be our camp. I must say goodbye Sam, for now."

"Thank you…for saving my life."

"You're welcome," she said with a shy smile. Then she looked with worry behind Sam. "Here comes the lady's carriage. I must go Sam, before she finally decides to arrest me for killing Leo."

"Yes, go, swiftly."

A few moments later and lady Olenna alit from her carriage and Sam climbed down from his horse to speak to her. "Gods, I hate the smell of this cesspool," she complained. "Where is she going in such a hurry?"

"To her people," Sam said. "She fears you may finally decide to arrest her for Leo."

"That won't be necessary," she replied. "Her own people will deal with her."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked in worry.

"You and your friend did not hear all the news, Samwell Tarly. The messenger in that town told me more. Sarella's three older sisters are also dead."

"What?" Sam said in surprise. "How?"

"One was killed in the melee that followed Ellaria's death. The other two were killed by the Dornish later on."

"Killed? By their own people?"

"Yes. They were speaking on revenge, planning to kill Cersei and your father."

Sam felt a shock. "My father? But why?"

"Because he killed their sister. Your father killed one of Sarella's sisters in the melee."

"That's…that's terrible."

"Yes, it is. I feared what Sarella will do if she heard this news so I kept it from both of you. The Dornish will tell her…and then do what they will do."

"She doesn't know she's walking into a trap. I must stop her!" He tried to mount his horse but the captain of the guards blocked his way.

"Stand fast," the captain said in a stern tone. "They will kill you too if you interfere, and then we will have to go to war with Dorne." Apparently he had been told the whole story already.

"I must help her. She saved my life!"

"The only way you can help her Sam is to do nothing," Lady Olenna said.

"My father will help her when he knows she saved me."

"No, he will not," Olenna replied. "As I said, she may want to kill him."

But Sam was already heading for the city gates. "I must speak with him."

"Wait for me!" Olenna shouted to him.

They found Lord Tarly in the ruins of the Red Keep at a meeting of the Queen's small council. Lady Olenna was invited inside, but Sam was not, and had to cool his heels in a corridor with two large dark skinned men of the east guarding the doors to the inner chamber. Sam was nervous, as he always was when about to speak to his father. Finally, a young man wearing the sigil of a kraken on his leather armor came to the door.

"Are you Sam Tarly?"

"Yes."

"They want to speak with you," he said.

Sam suddenly knew who he was. "Theon Greyjoy?"

"Aye," he said, casting his eyes away in a nervous gesture. "You were in the Watch with Jon Snow, weren't you?"

"I was."

"I suppose he told you all about me."

"Much. He hates you," Sam blurted out before he could stop himself.

"I should not be surprised at that. Come, they are waiting."

Sam followed him into the room. There at a long table sat many people, his father included, sitting at one end with Lady Olenna next to him. Theon took a seat next to a woman who looked like him, his sister Yara, Sam guessed. He knew something of the Greyjoy family from his talks with Olenna on the road here. The bald chubby man in the center wearing lavender robes could only be the famed Lord Varys, Master of Whisperers. And there was Archmaester Marwyn, Sam was glad to see. Three others Sam did not know. One was handsome and young, dark haired and bearded, and worn strange clothing, maybe from the east. Another was blond and blue eyed, a large man who looked like a lord and warrior. The third was older, maybe a warrior as well, and he looked sort of familiar, as if Sam had met him before.

Archmaester Marwyn stood and came towards him. "Sam, I am glad you have come. We have much to discuss."

"Yes," said Lord Varys. "We wish to hear all about the Walkers and wights. Everything you know."

"Everything?" Sam said in surprise.

"Yes," said his father. "Tell them all you know, boy."

He stared at his father. "You didn't believe me. Why will they?"

His father's face began to grow red. "Boy, we have no time for this. We all know they are real now. Speak, damn you."

"No," Sam said, suddenly finding some courage from somewhere. "Not until I know what happens to Sarella."

His father was about to shout at him but Lady Olenna put a hand on his arm and he restrained himself. The blond warrior spoke. "I am Lord Anders Yronwood of Dorne, Sam. I have left orders for Sarella to be arrested if she shows up in our camp."

"You can't. She saved my life."

"She may want to kill your father," Lord Yronwood replied.

"Let her try," Lord Tarly said, as if he relished the chance to kill her.

Lady Olenna shook her head. "We will spill no more blood because of Cersei Lannister." She turned to Lord Yronwood. "Would it not serve us better to let the girl go? Send her back to Dorne."

"And what about Leo Tyrell, my lady?" Lord Tarly asked. "She did kill him. She admitted it to you."

"He was trying to kill your son," Lady Olenna said in exasperation.

"So they say," Lord Tarly shot back. "Well, boy. Is that the truth of it?"

"It is…my lord. And please do not call me 'boy' ever again…my lord. I am a man of the Watch and a maester in training." Sam found himself breathless after saying this but did not back down from his father's angry glare. Lady Olenna smiled. There, I showed you my balls, Sam thought.

Now Lord Tarly's face did grow red as Lord Varys tittered and several others chuckled. "We have no time for family squabbles," Lady Olenna said, with a look of irritation now on her face. "Sam and Sarella told me the tale and from what I heard from Oldtown it seems the truth. Archmaester, you will concur on this?"

"I will," said Marwyn. "Long they had been spying on me, not willing to believe in the Walkers or dragons or anything else. Now the truth is confronting them they are trying to hide from it. Sam was doing research on the Walkers, and they wanted it stopped. I feared they may try to do him harm. Luckily Sarella was there to save him from their assassin."

"This is all very interesting," said the man with strange clothing. "But I want to hear what he has to say about the Walkers."

"Yes," said the man who looked familiar. "I also want to know what happened to my father."

"Your father?" Sam said in surprise.

"I am Ser Jorah Mormont."

Sam suddenly knew why he knew him. He was the Old Bear's son. "I was there when your father died….was murdered, by mutineers." Strange how steady his voice sounded, as if he had no fears at all.

"Tell me it all," Ser Jorah said, his eyes intense. Now Sam felt some fear…and guilt. When the Old Bear had died he had felt enormous guilt for running from Craster's Keep, and feared what people would think of his failure to save him. But that had been so long ago, and suddenly he found himself wanting to explain it all.

"This can wait," Varys said, taking the chance away from Sam. "I am sorry, but we need first settle the matter of Oberyn Martell's daughter." He turned to Lord Yronwood. "What will become of the girl if you let her go?"

"I know not. Most of her family is dead now, so…"

"Excuse me," said Sam. "That is not correct. She has four younger half sisters, all Ellaria's children."

Now Lord Yronwood looked uneasy. "Yes. I know of the other children. Prince Oberyn had a will, and left his wealth and property to all his children to be divided equally."

"They are bastards," Lord Tarly said. "They cannot inherit." As he said this he was glaring at Sam, and Sam knew that his father had received word of what he had done.

"In Dorne such matters are overlooked if there is a proper will, and no legitimate children," said Lord Yronwood. "But all this is beside the point. Knowing her blood, there is little doubt she will seek revenge some day, on me, or Lord Tarly, on someone."

"I see," said Lord Varys. Then he looked at Sam. "I am afraid this matter is out of the council's hands. It is an internal matter for Dorne to decide. Does the council agree?"

The woman from the Iron Islands disagreed at once. "No. Let her go. She hasn't harmed any one. What makes you think she will?"

"She is a Sand Snake," Lord Yronwood said in exasperation. "She cannot be trusted."

The rest of the council except for Theon agreed with Lord Yronwood. Theon sided with his sister, but the rest cared not. Lady Olenna almost seemed to about to agree with the Greyjoys but then finally said it was a Dornish matter and therefore theirs to deal with.

"It's murder if you kill her," Sam said. Then he grasped at a straw. "What will the new Queen say about that?"

But before they could answer a messenger came with a note for Lord Yronwood. He said it was an emergency. Lord Yronwood went to the door, read it and then quickly excused himself. The rest of the councilors looked confused at this interruption, all except Lord Varys, who's mask of calm serenity seemed to be permanently etched on.

"The Queen is far away, Sam," Varys said. "She is in the North, at Winterfell, and she has won a great victory over the Walkers."

Sam felt a shock go through him. "Then…they are defeated?"

"Not yet," said Ser Jorah. "Some escaped, including their leaders. Jon Snow lives, but most of the Watch and many from the North and the Vale perished in the battles."

Sam was upset and spoke harshly. "Why are you all here sitting and doing nothing to help them?"

"There is no way to get to the North," said Ser Jorah. "We would lose many men to the cold and hunger before we even get to the Neck."

The ironborn woman scoffed. "We can go by sea and all will be well."

Varys sighed. "We have discussed this and we will not be risking our armies on the ocean in winter."

Yara snorted her disgust and then stood and left them as well, followed by her brother.

Varys shrugged. "Ironborn. To them the sea is a road. To the rest of us, a watery grave for our armies." Then he looked at Sam. "Well, if you would not mind, we need to know all you have learned."

Sam strode to the table and sat where Theon was just sitting, and Marwyn sat by his side. His father gave him another glare but said nothing. Varys smiled. "So the small council grows a bit larger. Welcome, Sam Tarly."

He spoke a length about all he knew of the White Walkers and wights, about how he killed one and what had happened to it, and everything else he could think of. When he finished they questioned him at length and then Ser Jorah asked him about his father. When Sam related the whole terrible tale, the knight thanked him, and he was finally dismissed. As he rose to leave Sam's father did as well.

"Come with me," was all his father said and they strode out the door.

In silence they walked, down a corridor and to a set of stairs. Three flights they went up and then into a large room, a solar with bedroom attached.

His father spun around and stared at him hard. "It won't stand, I tell you."

"I see mother has written you."

"She has. You are all conspiring to make your bastard my heir."

"We are, my lord."

"You have no right."

"Why do you hate me so much?"

His father was about to speak and then just shook his head. "You…you were supposed to be my heir! My blood, my first born son! But you became what you became, unworthy to bear my name, my arms, my sigil."

"I cannot help what I became," Sam said. "But I am still your blood."

"Not worthy to carry on my bloodline. Not like your brother."

"Dickon is dead."

"I know, damn you!" his father shouted, and then he gasped, and reached out a hand to steady himself on a chair's back. He was flush, his face very red. Sam stepped forward to help him but he stood straight and shook his head. "Leave off!"

Sam stood still while his father composed himself, taking several deep breaths. Finally he spoke. "Your brother is dead, killed in battle, a noble death."

"A waste," Sam said, feeling sad for Dickon's loss, but not overwhelmed like his father and mother and sister were. Sam had thought on his lack of grief for his brother and could only conclude that in part it was because of Dickon he had been sent to the Wall to die. If there had been no second son, Sam would still be Lord Tarly's heir. That was unfair to Dickon, for it was no fault of his he had been born into such a family, but Sam still could not help feel that way.

"You wouldn't understand about brave men in battle and what it all means," his father said. "Nose in a book, hiding behind your mother's skirts, a coward always."

"Not any more. I have been in battle, my lord. I understand perfectly."

"So, you think you are a man now, do you? Killed a few enemies and laid with a girl. Very well. Then understand this. Your bastard son…"

"He is not a bastard anymore. I named him as my son."

"So your mother said. That is on your head. As for the rest, your sister is my heir. Not your boy."

"She doesn't want it."

"She has no choice."

"Then Horn Hill will go to her husband if she marries and then their children."

"So be it."

Sam could not believe he wanted his line to end this way. "And what of the great Tarly name? My sister's children will not have it. But my son will."

"Your son will have your blood, and will grow to be as you. Just as unworthy."

"Maybe so. Or maybe not. Not if you are there, to raise him, and teach him to be a man."

"I tried to do that with you…and failed."

"He has more than my blood," Sam said, knowing he had to fight for little Sam and Gilly. "He has wildling blood. Tough northern blood, of a warrior people. Hardy, used to fighting for what they want. Not backing down." In fact, he was all northern wildling blood, but Sam and Gilly would never tell anyone that.

His father paused and stared at him…and a silence lingered. Sam did not want to speak, afraid he would say something to anger him again. Sam felt he was on the verge of agreeing…when the door opened.

It was Lady Olenna. "The snake has escaped!" she announced without a word of hello.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Sarella, she managed to run off before they could arrest her. Fled on her horse, they say."

Lord Tarly grunted. "You should have killed her on the road here."

"Yes, yes. I suppose I should have. But she is Dorne's problem to deal with. I want no part of this."

"I will deal with her," Lord Tarly said, reaching for his great sword Heartsbane which was leaning against a nearby stuffed chair.

"Stop, Randyll," Lady Olenna said and to Sam's surprise he did so. "We are out of it. They are running her down now. Maybe by sundown they will have her."

Sam hoped not. He hoped she got clean away.

Lady Olenna sat down and looked from father to son. "So, have you two made peace?"

"Not yet," said Lord Tarly. He looked back to Sam. "So be it. I will raise your…son…and in time if he proves his worth, he will be my heir. But not until I am satisfied he is no coward."

"Thank you…Father."

Lord Tarly grunted once more, in a dismissive tone. Sam knew that grunt, had heard it often enough when his parents argued on something. The matter was ended and he wanted no more words on it. "It is time for dinner. Where's that damn servant?" Lord Tarly said and he started for the door. No kind words Sam expected and none he got. At least he hadn't called him 'boy' again.

After he left the room Lady Olenna looked at Sam. "So, what are we to do with you?"

Sam had no idea. "I can't go back to Oldtown."

"No, you cannot."

"I guess I won't be the maester for the Watch."

"No. I have a better idea. I want you to stay here."

"Here? And do what?"

"Assist this Marwyn. Varys tells me the Queen may pick him to be Grand Maester."

"The Citadel decides that and they will never pick him."

"Well, I would not worry on that. This new Queen seems to not care much for old traditions. She will pick who she wants, she told Varys, or it will be nobody."

Sam smiled and then remembered. "I am a man of the Watch. I must return to the Wall."

"Perhaps. But no one is going to the Wall yet. Not while the demons are still out there."

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Then it is settled. Now, let us have some food. And then I wish to speak to the whore who has murdered my family and has caused all this trouble. I would like her brother's head on a stake as well, but it seems the Queen has other ideas for Jaime Lannister."

* * *

 **Winterfell – Jaime**

He left Winterfell the same way he had come, on dragon back, and he was glad to be gone. Not that Jaime had liked flying on a dragon. It was a terrifying experience, one he'd sooner not repeat. Up so high, on a strange beast, the heat of which was so uncomfortable even in the cold frigid air. Before they had left King's Landing in his mind he thought of shoving the Queen off and somehow getting his family back in power…but they had warned him about that.

"Try to kill her, and the dragons will kill you," the Tyrosh named Daario had said to him just before they took off.

"Dragons only obey one master," Jorah Mormont had added. "If she is not on it, it will make sure you aren't either. And if somehow you survive the fall, then they will bathe you in fire and chew your bones to dust."

So he hadn't pushed her off, and not just because of their warnings. He knew they needed her and her dragons. Jaime was no fool, despite the foolish things he sometimes did. He had seen what dragons could do. They would be a powerful enemy against the White Walkers, as she later proved.

The day after Baelish's execution she finally came to see him in the evening in his small prison room, with Tyrion behind her. "Good evening, Your Grace, brother," Jaime said after he stood from the bed and put down the book he had been reading. "I would offer some refreshments but my prison seems to be lacking the finer things in life."

"I'm sorry," she said and he actually believed she meant it. "We had a deal, I know."

"We did…and here I am."

"This is the Stark's home and they believe you committed a crime against the current Lord Stark."

"All lies," Jaime lied. Behind her he saw Tyrion wince as he said this. "The boy must have slipped and fallen."

Daenerys sighed. "The point is moot. They have no evidence but still want your head, but I won't allow it. I gave my word and I'll stand by it. You will go into exile. Tyrion is here to fill in the details. I will see you tomorrow." And she left without another word.

Tyrion took a seat while Jaime sat on his bed by the book. Tyrion nodded to the book. "A good read?"

Jaime shrugged. "Northern history. Quite bloody lot they are. Did you know they used to hang their enemy's guts in weirwood trees?"

"Yes, I am sure I read that somewhere," his brother replied. "Jaime…I have come not to discuss history. The Queen has agreed not to have you beheaded, as the Stark's want. If not, they want you gone from Winterfell as soon as possible. It is time to go."

"Good. Back to King's Landing, is it?"

"No…White Harbor…then across the Narrow Sea."

He was puzzled. "The war is not over yet. That was the deal."

"The deal has changed."

"Gods, I knew I could not trust her."

"Anymore than anyone trusts our family after all we have done?" Tyrion answered.

Jaime had no clever reply to that for he knew his brother was right. "Very well. It is time I was out of this stinking room. Tell the Queen I will be ready whenever she is."

"After breakfast. Meet her in the godswood. That's where the dragons are now."

"Fine. But with her gone for a few days what will happen if the wights come calling?"

"A chance we will take. Patrols have seen them earlier today, but they were few in number and disappeared when the Queen went aloft. If they do come in strength, not to worry, we still have Snow on his dragon, plus the other one."

"Snow…on his dragon? Gods, you mean he can fly one?"

"Yes. A Targaryen through and through. Actually, I am quite jealous."

"You always wanted to fly a dragon."

"Well, maybe I will get a chance soon, if Snow will agree to take me with him. But first there is more news, which you cannot tell anyone." Quickly Tyrion explained about a legend and a sword they found underground, and it all seemed like a pile of nonsense.

"You are letting your mind run riot again," Jaime said with a chuckle. "Myths and magic swords? It's preposterous."

"Many would think so, but if you had seen the sword, you would believe. Only Snow could lift it from the statue and it flooded with light and heat when he held it."

"Well then, we have no more worries. This Prince and his magic sword will save us all from our deadly foes."

"Jaime…it is true, you must believe."

"I believe you believe it, little brother. As for me, I care not. I won't be here, so…for the rest of you who are staying, I hope it is true."

"Yes. Well, to the point. The Stark's want you gone or they may change their minds on your fate. So off you go with the Queen tomorrow. Lord Manderly has written a letter to tell his people to put you on a fast ship as soon as practical. Destination, Pentos. The Queen has written another letter for you to give to Illyrio Mopatis." He took the letters from a front pocket and handed them over. "And I will have a third one for you in the morning, for the Iron Bank, to advance you a sum of money for you to live on in comfort."

"Yes…it seems you have it all settled."

Tyrion sighed. "I am sorry…but I am afraid we will not see each other for a long time to come."

"I know there are strong feelings that if you ever return I will be killed. But you could always visit."

Tyrion seemed to brighten at this. "Yes, when the chance presents itself I shall."

Suddenly Jaime had an idea forming in his mind. "Come with me, brother. Bring Bronn as well. Imagine what we three could do in the east!"

Tyrion balked, as Jaime expected. "Sorry, brother, my place is here, with the Queen."

Jaime was disappointed but shrugged it off. "I knew you loved being around power too much."

"Afraid so. What will you do in the east?"

"Do? I don't know. Bronn said I could join a free company if I get bored. They even take one handed men he said…for arrow fodder."

"He would know. Jaime…try to stay out of anything…political. Men will try to use you for their own means. Your name means something. Wealth, and a connection to me, Hand of the Queen."

"You know I hate politics. I was never much good for anything but killing men. Maybe I will join a free company."

Tyrion sighed. "Can't you just…live…and enjoy life. Find a woman, have a family."

"I had a woman…and a family," Jaime said in bitter tones. "But I could never tell anyone or show my love for them."

"No, I suppose not."

"I doubt I shall ever love another."

"Yes…I understand that all too well."

"Shae?"

"Yes."

"We found her in Father's bed."

"That's where I killed her." Tyrion's voice was almost a whisper as he spoke on her.

Jaime knew he had done it but as yet he had not admitted to it. "Why? Because she was sleeping with…"

"No," Tyrion said sharply. "Because she had betrayed me. She knew the truth. She lied on the witness stand and sealed my fate. Hers and Father's as well. Enough of the past. You leave after breakfast tomorrow. I'll have a bag packed with some extra clothing and food and wine for you."

"My sword and armor as well?"

"Yes. On the morrow."

"I would like a bath before I leave."

"You certainly need one, but I think the Starks won't like that."

"The Queen will like the smell of me less once we are side by side on her beast."

Tyrion nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

He left then, leaving Jaime with his thoughts on all that had happened and would happen. He did not look forward to going to the east, for he had never been there and knew little about it. Going to Pentos, a fine city it was said. The Queen's friend was supposed to help him. An odd choice, and he wondered what her real motives were. He'd have to be on his toes when he arrived over there…and maybe ever after. He had killed her father after all. All the while he was on her dragon he expected her to kill him in some way. But it seemed she was a woman of her word. A promise made was one to be kept. Much like her brother Rhaegar.

When they had stopped at Moat Cailin to water and feed the dragons, she had asked him about Rhaegar.

"Yes, I knew him quite well," Jaime had told her. "I believe he was all set to overthrow your father at one point. When he rode to the Trident he left me behind. He promised to make things better when he returned."

"But he never did."

"No…Robert won."

"And you joined him…after killing my father."

"You know he had to die," Jaime had replied. "He was ruining the kingdom. Everyone hated your family. When he killed Rickard and Brandon Stark that was the last straw. And then he wanted to destroy King's Landing."

"Tell me how it happened," she had asked, the eagerness in her voice clear.

Jaime obliged. "He was on his throne, screaming for his pyromancer, but he was already dead, his blood on my sword. Aerys had earlier told me to kill my father, whose army was at the gates, but that I would not do. When he saw me with my bloody sword, somehow he knew it was not my father's blood. He ran and I caught him from behind and killed him at the foot of the Iron Throne. One cut was enough. He bled to death."

By the time he had finished the tale she was glaring at him, her face a mask of anger, breathing deeply. But then she calmed herself, her will to do so strong, and in a few moments she was relaxed. "Yes," she said. "Maybe he did have to die." They spoke no more on the past after that.

Jaime was just drifting off to sleep when there was a knock. He sat up. "Come."

In came Brienne, carrying a bucket of hot water, and a small towel wrapped around a bar of soap.

"My bath I take it?"

"Yes. Sorry," she said as she placed the bucket on the floor and the towel and soap on the chair Tyrion had been sitting on earlier. "The best I can do."

"I see. Well, better than nothing." He stood and she just stood there, staring at him. "Well, would you like to watch or will you be going?"

"I came to say my goodbyes, Jaime." She had that look on her face again, as if she would do anything for him, as if she truly loved him.

He sighed heavily. "I…I cannot give you what you want."

She flushed and cast her eyes down. "I know. You love her."

"Yes. Maybe…I don't know anymore."

"Even now, after all she has done, after you ordered her to be arrested, you can still think you love her?"

"We don't choose the one we fall in love with, I once said to you. It just is. Can you understand that?"

"I can," she said and then she turned and was gone.

The next morning they prepared to leave Winterfell just after breakfast. Jaime's legs were stiff after being locked up for so many days. At least he didn't stink so much anymore. After a serving girl took his breakfast tray away Bronn showed up in Jaime's room with the promised bag of clothing and food plus his sword and armor. Jaime also still had the dagger Tyrion had given him which he now hid by the small of his back in its leather sheath, within easy reach of his good hand.

"Sure you can still swing this thing with your left arm?" Bronn asked as he handed over the sword.

"Want to find out?"

Bronn chuckled. "You know how that would end."

Jaime knew. "Yes, I suppose so. You proved that enough times."

Bronn escorted him to the godswood where the dragons were tied up. As they walked across the courtyard, many evil looks came his way. Up on a high walkway he saw the girl Arya standing with the tall blacksmith by her side, the girl glaring at him.

"Those two got the better of us both," Jaime said.

"Aye, that they did," Bronn said as he noticed them too. "She really hates you."

"I know."

"So, did you push him or not?"

"Leave it, would you please?"

"Aye. But they won't. Ever."

"Then it is best I am far away from here. I never should have come."

"That's what I said to your brother."

"I had to see him…to put the past behind us."

In the godswood Tyrion and the Queen waited, with a third person, a young man dressed all in black, with two swords, one strapped across his back and another by his side. Jaime knew it could only be one person.

"The famed Jon Snow, is it not?" Jaime asked Bronn as they approached. Jaime had not seen him the last time he was here, for Lady Catelyn had hidden her husband's bastard away from royal eyes.

"That's him all right."

"Jon Snow," Jaime said as they approached. "Ser Jaime Lannister."

"Aye, I know who you are," the man said, stern and dour like Eddard Stark had always been. Maybe he was his son after all. "I came to give you a warning, never to…"

"Yes, yes, your sister Sansa has already told me. Well, your cousin at least. My blood will spill if I ever come back to Westeros, she warned me."

"Then don't come back," Snow said. He turned to the Queen. "Don't be long, Your Grace. If they attack I don't know if I can hold them by myself."

She smiled at him. "Two days or three at most. You will be fine. Just remember what I taught you."

He dipped his head to her and was about to leave, but Jaime stopped him. "Snow. My brother loves dragons and would like a ride."

Snow looked from him to Tyrion. "So be it. When I feel more confident you shall have that ride."

Tyrion grinned. "Well, now I have something to look forward to besides Bronn's bawdy jests."

Snow left them and then the Queen climbed aboard her dragon. "It is time, my lord."

"Not a lord anymore," Jaime said. "Tyrion is lord of the Rock now."

Then he looked at Tyrion and knew he had one more thing to tell him. "Tyrion…"

But Tyrion was fiddling in his pocket and came out with a letter for him. "I almost forgot. For the Iron Bank. You must live in some style. And remember, a Lannister…"

"Always pays his debts," Jaime finished. He had one more debt to pay. "Tyrion…I….I…"

"Yes?"

He wanted to tell him, tell him it all, about how they had tricked him, how the girl he had married years ago wasn't a whore, but was a girl they met by chance, being chased by those men for real, not because Jaime had paid them to put on a mummer's show just so Tyrion could get laid. The girl had truly loved him…and then his father had ruined it all, saying she wasn't worthy enough for Tyrion, though he was the lowest of the Lannisters in their father's eyes. Making Jaime tell Tyrion he had paid the men and the girl so he could have a woman for the first time. He had to tell him the truth…but then he knew he could not, because he loved his brother, and he could not shatter him in this way. Or maybe he was just protecting himself from one more person in the world hating him. He had no family left…he could not destroy the last one who he could call brother and friend.

"I…I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from them," he said at last. "Father and Cersei. I should have done more. I should have stood up to them."

"You did all you could," Tyrion said. "When they wanted something they usually got it. Except for my death, and I cheated them of that final pleasure."

"You did. They were so horrible to you, always. Maybe Father deserved that crossbow bolt after all."

Tyrion sighed. "All I ever wanted was to please him."

"Yes…so did I. A fine job we did."

"We will talk on it all when I see you in the east," Tyrion said, blinking his eyes, on the verge of tears. "Well, brother, be safe. Keep a warm house with plenty of wine and a few ladies about and perhaps I shall never return here."

"You will. You love it too much."

"I do at that."

Jaime stooped and hugged his brother, briefly or he never would let go, and then he stood again. "It is time," Daenerys said.

"How is it?" Tyrion asked Jaime. "The dragon ride."

"Terrifying. You would love it."

"I know I will."

Jaime mounted behind the Queen, feeling the heat of the dragon again as he did so. "Goodbye, brother!" Tyrion called out as the dragon began to race across an open space between the trees. "May the gods look after you."

Jaime held on tight as they rose higher, and then the dragon circled twice over the castle, and he had one last glimpse of Tyrion waving his little hand, and Jaime fought back the tears, knowing perhaps he would never see him again.

* * *

 **King's Landing – Cersei**

Her slight wound was healing and she was out of danger of corruption, the archmaester said, and so on the third day of her captivity she was taken to the black cells. They at least had survived her attempts to destroy the Red Keep. As the guards took her they passed piles of broken stone and knocked down doors, shattered glass and crumbled masonry.

Aptly named and aptly feared were the black cells. Complete darkness, a filthy cold stone floor, and the sound of rats scurrying about. She had been in prison before, in the sept's dungeons, but there she had light at least. Now in the darkness her mind began to go in all directions. She had to calm herself, think on airy places with plenty of light, of the good times in her life, of better days.

She had been Queen of half the world once, the most powerful person from the most powerful family in Westeros…and now it was all gone. How many had conspired against her and her family she knew not, but many who had were now dead. As she thought on all the events of the past few years, she knew one event which had led to this point...the death of Jon Arryn, and she had no one to blame for that because she didn't know who had killed him. His death had brought them to Winterfell, where Jaime had pushed the boy. His death had brought Ned Stark south, where he discovered her secret and forced her hand.

She had wanted Robert dead for years and only when he was gone had she realized she should never have wanted him dead for he was the linchpin that kept the kingdom together. Yet she also knew his death would have come eventually, for Robert would have died of drink, sloth, gluttony, and lust before long. She thought Joffrey would be able to replace him, with Cersei behind him, the real power of the throne. But Joffrey had other ideas, and Cersei knew she could never control him, and that the realm would some day loathe him as they had loathed Aerys. But once Ned Stark had discovered her terrible secret she had to act, and with Robert's death came the rest of the folly that had led to this moment.

Jon Arryn's death had precipitated all that, and now here she was, her family mostly dead, her children all gone, and she was about to be tried and executed. She had committed crimes, of that there was no doubt. But in all cases she was only trying to save her own life. Save her life from an overbearing father, a faithless husband, a treacherous brother, a domineering priest, a people who hated and had humiliated her. Was all that even a crime? Wouldn't anyone have done the same if put in the same position?

Now she was cold and alone in the dark. She wore only the linen shift she had worn when lying in her sick bed. It was thin and she was freezing and filthy after sleeping on the dirty floor of the cell. The archmaester had protested this treatment but the rest did not. Meals came, porridge and a weak soup and bread. A skin of water each time too, and she gulped it eagerly, but rationed it because she did not know when the next would come. How much time had passed she didn't know either, but she had counted eight meals before they came to take her out.

"Is it time for my trial?" she asked her guards as she blinked in the light of their torches.

"No," one said. "Someone wants to speak to you."

They put chains on her wrists and ankles and up they took her, shuffling along between them, the light growing as they emerged from underground, into upper corridors, and then a room. Here was a table, with three people behind it. Varys, Ser Jorah Mormont, and Lady Olenna Tyrell. The old hag had come for her vengeance, Cersei knew. She was put on a chair in front of them, shivering, a clatter of chains as she moved. Two guards stood by her sides and two more stood by the doors.

"She stinks," the Queen of Thorns said at once, her face curdled in disgust.

"The black cells are not a seaside villa," Varys said.

"I suppose not," Olenna replied. "Well, look at you. How far the mighty have fallen."

"Not as far as your son and grandchildren," Cersei said with a half grin. "I hope they are in some deep dark hell."

"Bitch!" Olenna retorted, full of venom. "How dare you sully their memory! I ought to have you dragged out and burnt at the stake at once!"

"That will not happen," Ser Jorah said strongly. "The Queen's orders are…"

"Yes, yes," said Olenna in irritation. "We all wait on our dear little Queen to return."

"I told you this would not be pleasant," Varys said. "She still has claws."

"Don't speak as if I am not here, you pompous ass," Cersei said to Varys. "I was once your queen, or have you forgotten all those years you spent whispering in my ear."

"How could I forget?" Varys said. "So much we shared…all gone to pieces now."

Then she remembered. "You let Jaime into the black cells that night."

"I did. His sword at my throat, mind you. He let Tyrion go, not me. And Tyrion killed your father, not me."

"You ran. Just as guilty."

"I ran because if I had not I would have been a guest of the black cells, or sitting in that chair with chains as you are now, a rope waiting for me. I also ran because it was time to bring my true queen home."

"You were always loyal to the Targaryens, even as you helped Robert."

"Always," he admitted. "With one hand I sent assassins after the Mad King's children, with the other I sent warnings. A dangerous game, but it all worked out."

"I should have had your head years ago," Cersei shot back.

"Yes, you should have."

"Enough reminiscing," Olenna said. "I want to know a thing or too."

"Am I on trial?" Cersei asked.

"Not yet," Ser Jorah said. "This is an informal hearing, to satisfy Lady Olenna's…curiosity."

Olenna barged ahead with her questions. "Why did you kill my son and grandchildren? They meant you no harm."

Cersei shrugged. "I wanted the priests gone. By chance they were in the sept that day."

"You knew they would be there, for Loras' trial. For your trial! You managed to keep your son away. Why not them as well?"

"Because they needed to die," Cersei spat. "They needed to die so I could have my son back! That little doe eyed whore had him wrapped around her finger! He was my son! They wanted me sent off to Casterly Rock, to live out my days all alone."

"Gods, woman," Olenna said with a shake of her head. "How stupid you are. That is the fate of all mothers. Their sons get married and the wives take over. In my case, I was glad of it. More time to relax and enjoy what time the gods left me. Decades, it turns out, long enough to endure this horror. You should have done the same, gone peacefully and be glad of it. How many you murdered is beyond compare. A whole city in ruins, tens of thousands dead. Your name will be cursed for all eternity."

"They deserved it, all of them," Cersei said. "I only wish you had been there as well. You had a chance to stop it all, to throw down the priests, kill them, and save my son from their claws. But no, your son was too cowardly to act. If Robert had been here, blood would have flowed in the septs. Even Joff would have killed them. If my father had been here…"

Olenna sighed loudly. "You do go on. All in the past." She stood. "I have heard enough. And the smell of her is making my stomach turn. Make sure she at least looks presentable for her trial. Good-day."

After she was gone, Varys told the guards to take Cersei back to her cell.

"Wait," Cersei said. "Daenerys, where is she?"

"Still in Winterfell," Ser Jorah said. "They won a great battle, but are uncertain what the surviving Walkers will do next."

"And Jaime?"

Varys answered. "Gone."

"Gone?" she gulped. She thought he meant he was dead.

"Across the Narrow Sea," he said. "The Queen wrote us. She flew Jaime to White Harbor and saw him leave on a ship that had orders to take him into exile to Pentos."

Cersei sighed. "I had hoped to see him one more time."

"I am afraid you will never see him again," Ser Jorah said.

She became ill after that, a fever and a bad cough, and Varys had her taken out of the black cells, bathed, and put in a proper room where a maester could care for her. She was delirious and in her state she only wanted to die, for she had nothing left to live for. They had to keep her alive for the trial after all, so the maesters went to work.

Four days later she was better. In the morning as she was sitting up in her bed came the great shock. In he walked, with Varys and Ser Jorah.

It was Jaime.

Her heat beat faster and she began to smile…but then she remembered. "GET OUT!" she screamed.

He stood fast. "How good to see you as well, sister dear." He was heavily bearded and his hair long, like when he had first escaped from the Starks.

"How could you?" she said, hurt in her tone. "You ordered them to arrest me."

"I did," Jaime said, casting his eyes down, as if ashamed.

"Why?"

"To save our army."

"They should have died first, to protect me! Their queen!"

"Nothing could have saved them or you, Cersei," he said, coming closer to her bed. "The dragons would have destroyed us all. I owed the men a chance to live. You were the price."

"Coward," she spat. "You did it to save your own skin. I heard all about your deal. Exile for you, a fire for me."

"Yes, exile…if I ever get there. A storm almost sunk us and we were blown south to here, barely limping along on one mast and some oars."

"I wish you had drowned."

"I think that is enough, Ser Jaime," said Varys. "She has just recovered from a bad illness after all."

"Can't I speak to her alone?" Jaime asked. "I promise we won't try to escape. I have one hand and you already took my armor and have my sword."

Ser Jorah nodded. "Come, he is going no where with her," he said and he and Varys left.

As soon as they were gone Jaime came to the bedside and sat on the bed right beside her. She was about to scream again when he put his left hand over her mouth. "Shsssh…there is no time. I need to explain much."

She nodded and he pulled down his hand and he began to whisper.

"They want your blood, all of them, the whole city, those that still live. They know you are here. The crowds are growing restless. Soon Varys and the rest may not be able to control them. He has sent letters to Daenerys, asking her to return as soon as possible. She is coming, her last letter said. Your trial will begin as soon as she arrives."

"When?"

"A day or two…and we both know how that will go."

"Let's run!"

He shook his head.

"Coward."

That stung, she knew it, but she had no feelings for him anymore.

"Cersei…the whole city wants your blood. If they see us outside these walls they will tear us to pieces. Even worse, after your trial the people want you to burn at the stake, burn like you burned their city and families."

"Gods," she said, feeling her heart flutter.

"Daenerys will want something less painful, but she may have to agree with them. You will die, of that there is no doubt."

Tears sprang to her eyes. "Isn't there any other way? Can't I go with you?"

He sighed. "I asked…they said no. Not after what you have done here."

"You know why I did it."

"I know. But it was wrong."

"They humiliated me!"

"Not all of them."

"We should have stayed and fought."

"We never could have won."

She sighed. "I know. If only Tommen hadn't jumped." She gasped. "If only…my poor boy…our poor boy. Our children."

She reached for him and he hugged her tight. "I won't let them burn you," he whispered in her ear and then he cried and gasped. "I love you!"

The pain came, on her right side, under the ribs, a blade entering her body, reaching up for her heart. She gasped, all the air taken from her, and she arched her back as agony spread from the dagger wound. The blade was pulled out and warmth flown down her stomach, the warmth of spilling blood, her blood, draining the last of her life away.

"Jaime!" she cried out, a scream.

There was the sound of the door slamming open and running feet. "Gods, what has he done?" Varys shouted.

"He's killed her!" Ser Jorah yelled.

She felt hands trying to pry them apart, but Jaime held on tight, would not let go.

"I love you!" he sobbed again and she could barely speak now but managed three final words.

"I love you." And she meant it, for what he had done was done from love, of a life they had shared since their birth.

Darkness crowded her eyes, and her mind drifted, back to a woods near her home, and a witch woman who said her little brother would kill her one day. She always thought it meant Tyrion, but of course Jaime was her little brother as well, being born a few moments after her.

And then came the last thought, of home, and the mother who had brought her into the world, a woman she had lost so long ago, and now she would see her once again in the afterlife. If she could have she would have thanked Jaime, for sparing her the agony of fire, and she knew in the end he did truly love her, and one day she hoped to see him again as well.

 **THE END**

* * *

Yes, the end. This is all I can really do with the story until we see season 7 for real. I have taken it as far as it can go. If I continue from this point I will get into territory I have already covered in my fanfic Ned Stark Lives, with its grand battles and strategy and all, and I really don't want to repeat myself. If you haven't read it yet, please do, for it covers the whole war from start to finish.

I know there are some loose ends. What will happen with Sarella? (She will get away and lead a rebellion in Dorne with her little sisters. Just joking…maybe. Not even sure if she will be in the show. Most likely not.) Does Jon's new sword kill wights and Walkers? (Yes it does…more on that if I decide to write Season 8 next year…if he finds the sword in the show) What will happen with Jaime? (Hmmm, uncertain, but there will be some pissed off people. Again for the future if he still lives in season 8). Who is the third dragonrider? (I am sure you can guess. He is short and loves women and wine and…oops, I've said too much).

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed it and thank you to those who commented. Like you I will be eagerly anticipating next year's season of the show, and more books. (Please hurry George. I am getting older and so are you.) Bye for now.

Steve, Seoul, Korea


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